Quinntet
by Pike2
Summary: SG1 fic with both Daniel & Jonas. Jonas just wants a normal life, unfortunately the darkness won't let him be. Old enemies & friends return in this last instalment. Jonas realised he wasn’t flying, he was falling and Teal’c’s strong grip could not save hi
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Nope don't own nor do I get paid.

**A/N:** I've reposted this story on FF as I've had a few technical probs.

To:

LJQ: Thank you for your kind words, I'm in the process of writing the bar scene, just doing some research (hic)

Drakcir: Hey great to hear from you. Hope you're liking this (you may what to slap me later on though).

Sache8: Thanks again. I owe you, as when you reviewed my last piece you gave me an idea that sent my plot bunny hopping around the garden looking for those revelation Daisies (cheers).

:o) Big sloppy hug to you all.

**Quinntet**

_Chapter 1_

_Notice me, Take My Hand_

The old man bent over the decorative clock adjusting the intricate mechanism with a tender touch. He paused, every now and then, to peel his fingers from the tool so he could ease the pain that seized his arthritic joints. As he laboured he let his mind soar through the delicate escapement of lacy wheels and springs focusing only on his craft. He sighed, clasping his hands together but this time it was against the cold that crept like a thief along the old brickwork. He rubbed his fingers gently and massaged some warmth into their skin before returning to the still and silent timepiece.

The basement was damp; he could feel it seep into his bones even though the overhead pipes still creaked with warmth from the antiquated heating system. He bit his lip, ignoring the pulse of pain, ignoring the cold, continuing with his task and wishing for his youth. He gently smiled as he recalled how he had come to Kelowna from Tirania, almost forty years ago, fresh faced and eager for experience. It had been a different time back then, their governments had formed a fragile alliance against the Andari and there was an exchange of peoples to cement this. He had been conscripted to be an apprentice to a master clockmaker and against a backdrop of enmity had fallen in love with the old man's daughter. So when this tenuous peace between the two nations fell apart he had stayed on and married his Sophia, becoming a Kelownan citizen and disowning his own people.

"Sophia," he whispered her name as if it were a prayer and shut his tired eyes, resting two knotted fingers against the bridge of his nose, "Sophia."

He thought about the one room hovel above, they now shared with the Virens, a middle-aged Andari advocate and his wife, who Ravel's Supremacist Government had assigned to reside with them. 'Assigned', he shook his head, forced, just like he and Sophia had been forced from their home to live in these overcrowded, derelict, apartments or 'Borgos' as the Tiranian and Andari inhabitants now called them.

He sighed again and opened his eyes, struggling with the emotion that fisted in his heart; his wife was sick. He had tried to get her moved, long before the fences and barbwire had entombed the Borgos. He had argued with an official that his wife was Kelownan, that she had family, a brother, in the country, whom she could stay with but the impassive clerk had just shrugged and told him to put his request in writing; that was eight months ago. Now he needed money to buy overpriced medicines on the Kelownan black-market.

When he was satisfied with the repair he closed the casing with a firm snap and placed the clock down on the bench. He sat back taking the half rimmed spectacles from his face and folding them carefully into the case he kept in his jacket. He then reached for his pocket watch and adjusted the clock to the correct time before gently setting the weighted pendulum in motion. He smiled sadly into the brass face of the clock and ran his hand over its curve before patting it and getting to his feet.

He pulled his thick quilted coat from the back of the chair and slowly began fastening the buttons. It was cold outside, winter had come and dug its heels in, freezing the city; but what did they expect? They had dropped a Naquadria bomb on their enemies, their own planet and now nature was retaliating with teeth bared.

He picked up his battered hat and paused for a moment to listen to the silence of the Borgos, for after dark nothing moved on the streets above him. People shut their doors, if they could and drew their cardboard blinds and makeshift curtains, trying to dissolve into the corners of their miserable rooms. For the night brought a terror to these segregated and ostracized people, it brought, with its pitch, the City Guards and their expulsion trucks. At first, the young men had been taken, volunteering to work the mines and other labour-intensive tasks for a promise of better food and housing for themselves and their families; they had never returned. Rumours circulated and more were taken, old and young, men and women but this time without the pretence of a better life. Night after night the trucks came, sometimes just a few were taken, sometimes a building was cleared but no one ever came back and more refugees entered the Borgos daily, taking the place of those missing. So Fyodor stood there, in the gloom, listening out for the drone of a heavy engine before feeling it was safe enough to venture into the night.

When he stepped outside the air cut him with icy malice, slashing through the padding of the humble coat. He tread carefully on the gloss of the broken, stone steps that lead from the basement to the street, mindful not to steady himself on the wrought iron railing that was glistening with the cold.

When he was at street level he traversed the slab of crumbling concrete that led to his apartment building stopping for a moment, as he did each night, to lay an outstretched hand on the heavy oak door. The wood was barely visible under a mass of crudely taped photos fixed to a simple, handwritten note; a mournful reminder of those missing after the Goa'uld attacked this part of the city. These battered epitaphs still stood, where so many others had crumbled or fled on the wind, forgotten amongst the immigrants who had left their own homes to help try and rebuild some commonality from the ashes. Fyodor closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to Samhain, the Tiranian god of remembrance. He took his hand away and balled it into a fist, bringing the circle made by his thumb and index finger to his lips as was the custom of his people. He opened his eyes again and went to enter the tenement when a flyer caught his eye. He frowned; he had never noticed it before. It was a Supremacist pamphlet attacking Dreylock's traitorous government, naming those it believed were disloyal to the Kelownans. One name stood out, it slapped at the old man's memory making his eyes sting with tears; that name was Jonas Quinn.

He leant against the door, emotion pinching at his soul, as around him, in the still night, the spectres of his past took flight. He heard their questions, their voices, twist around his head. He closed his eyes, seeing the small interrogation room again, smelling the freshly painted walls and the heavy stench of tobacco oozing from the Government's agents.

"_You're Tiranian are you not Mr Arnold?" _

_Fyodor nodded gripping his hands firmly in front of him to stop them shaking. "So your son's a half blood?" The man with the glasses continued, "his mother being Kelownan?" He didn't look to the clockmaker for confirmation; he remained staring at the clipboard in front of him._

_The seconds slipped by as the agent continued to read the documents attached to the board while the clockmaker waited anxiously. "Do you know why you are here Mr Arnold?" He said finally, looking up. _

_Fyodor noticed that one of the man's eyes was smaller than the other. He found himself focusing on this, unable to look away. "No," he replied, "I have no idea."_

"_Don't play ignorant with us, Arnold," the largest of the three interrogators stood up, knocking into the naked light bulb, which hung above the desk, causing it to swing._

"_You know why you're here. You know your son has been detained by this agency because he has the ability to do things with his mind," the agent pointed to his temple with a thick, yellowing, index finger._

_The clockmaker denied the accusation, "there must be some mistake," he began._

_The large man laughed, "we have testimony from the boy's teacher, a Miss Helvellyn, saying that your son pushed himself into her mind, making her see things," he opened a file that was on the desk. _

_Fyodor shook his head, "she, she must be mistaken," he replied, trying to keep his voice calm, "Morgan has never shown any signs of a, a 'mind power', I'm his father, surely I would have witnessed something before now?"_

_They remained silent, watching him as the light swung backwards and forwards making the flex creak. They knew he was lying. Other children had come forward, children in Morgan's class, children he'd manipulated who had been too terrified to say anything before. It was no use, they had their proof._

_He looked across the desk at the one with the glasses, "where is my son?" He asked softly. _

"_Your son is awaiting sentencing by the Judge Advocate," the man answered, his tone unfeeling._

"_But he's only a boy," the clockmaker pleaded, raising his voice._

_The large agent bent over him, Fyodor could smell stale tobacco as he spoke, "who has broken one of our most sacred laws, as have you and your wife. You know what the penalty will be 'when' you are all found guilty?" _

_He did, imprisonment for them and a death sentence for Morgan, which would be publicly carried out within the next day or two. Fyodor's head fell into his hands in despair; the two agents exchanged smug looks._

_The man with the glasses shoved a sheet of paper across the desk; Fyodor looked down at the document "what's this?" He asked. _

_The large man place a hand on his shoulder "a way to save your family," he offered with an insensitive squeeze. _

_The clockmaker looked from one man to the other, the agent with the glasses spoke, "it's a consent form for an operation to remove the diseased part of your son's brain," he tapped the sheet of paper._

"_I don't understand," Fyodor responded, moving a trembling hand over the document. _

"_Let's just say our 'doctors' have a vested interest in performing a procedure called a craniotomy, for research purposes, the only thing they lack is a wealth of 'volunteers'."_

_Fyodor looked up in horror, "no, there must be some other way?" _

_They just stared back at him with annoyance; the large agent shook his head, "it's either this or certain death for your son. Only your signature can save him." _

_The clockmaker bit into his lower lip, "is it safe?" _

_They didn't answer and he knew he had no choice. The man with the glasses offered him a pen, he looked down at the dotted line and signed, scraping the pen against the paper, "can, can I see him?"_

_He was told that would not be possible until after the operation. The two agents took the document from his grasp and left the interrogation room but one man still remained, a doctor who had been watching, silently, from the corner. The man got up and walked over to the desk, opening Morgan's file, "a beautiful child," he said turning over Morgan's black and white school photo._

"_He takes after his mother, same colouring," Fyodor remembered, touching the picture. _

_The Doctor smiled and the clockmaker saw that he was only a young man. He sat down informally on the edge of the table, next to Fyodor, "would you mind if I ask you another question, for my file?" He indicated to the pad he was carrying._

_Fyodor shook his head, what else could he do? He had no power here, "I'm sorry I've forgotten your name?"_

"_It's Kieran, Doctor Kieran," the man answered politely, resting his pen against the notebook, "why do you think your son attacked the other boy, Jonas Quinn?"_

_The clockmaker took a deep breath and looked into the man's deep brown eyes, wondering if what he was about to say would help Morgan in any way, "I think he was jealous, Doctor."_

"_Jealous?"_

"_Yes, that boy, Quinn, he has just lost his sister?" _

_Kieran nodded, "yes."_

_Fyodor sighed, "I know my son and he would have resented the attention that boy was getting from the other students and teachers at the school."_

_The Doctor looked astonished, "really?"_

_Fyodor nodded sadly, "yes, Morgan likes to be noticed, to be the centre of attention at all times."_

"_And you think that was the only reason for the attack?" Kieran waited for the answer._

"_Yes, I believe so," the clockmaker looked down at his hands._

_The Doctor nodded and patted Fyodor's shoulder, satisfied with the older man's answer. He couldn't save Morgan but at least he could safeguard Jonas Quinn from Government scrutiny. He coughed quietly, "must have been hard for you and your wife, bringing up someone so," he searched for the right word, "headstrong."_

_The clockmaker smiled weakly, "we tried to warn him," he said candidly, "about using this, this ability of his. He's not a bad boy, Doctor, he's just a little impulsive. Please," he grabbed the other man's hand, squashing an imprint of Kieran's ring into his own flesh, "could I see my son, before the operation, I need to talk to him, to explain things, let him know how much we love him."_

_The Doctor stood up, "I'll see what I can do," he promised. _

_Fyodor picked up the photo of his son, "thank you," he whispered with tears in his eyes._

_Kieran looked back at him before shutting the door._

_Fyodor never saw his son again._

The clockmaker reached out and tore down the sheet paper, screwing it into a tight ball and tossed it to the ground.

When he entered his room he was met by the wonderful aroma of cooking. Manon Viren looked up from the old wood burning stove, which coughed and hissed with all the spitefulness of age and smiled, "it's Shoboshic," she said proudly, lifting a bowl that was warming on a cast iron pot.

The room welcomed him, shining with the stove's tepid heat, Fyodor removed his coat and hat "smells good," he replied, looking towards the area where he and Sophia slept, the curtains they had erected for privacy were drawn around the bed.

Madame Viren read his mind, "she's sleeping, come, eat first," she offered, placing the bowl down on the table.

Fyodor turned back to the Andari woman, "how's she been?"

"A little better today, I think, she even helped prepare the vegetables," Manon responded, taking a seat at the table and gesturing for Fyodor to do the same.

The old man nodded and took his place in front of the bowl, "you've all eaten?" He asked.

"A little while ago, now you eat, you must keep up your strength."

Fyodor lifted the plate off the top of the bowl and looked back to Madame Viren in surprise, "where did you get such ingredients?" He enquired, inhaling the rich scent of the various, stewed, vegetables.

Manon held her hands out and shrugged, casually, "I exchanged them for some pearls with a Kelownan market trader I know," her small, grey, eyes gleamed.

Fyodor looked at her but the woman just shook her head, coiling a loose tendril of greying hair back into its double knot that was fastened at the back of her head, "a pretty corpse I'd make with an empty stomach and an expensive keepsake round my neck. Now please, eat, before the City Police take the bowl away as evidence of my black market dealings."

The clockmaker laughed and asked discreetly, "and I'del he didn't mind you parting with your pearls?" He glanced across at the burly man sat reading in the other bed.

Manon gave him a quick smile and winked, "his hunger quietened his opinion," she answered, "and anyway he's too busy trying to finish that book by the philosopher Tibboh before we have to burn it." She nodded in the direction of the stove and the pile of books unceremoniously stacked against it.

Fyodor loaded his spoon and let the hot broth rest in his mouth for a while, savouring every flavour, before swallowing. Madam Viren went back to the stove and picked up a boiling kettle bringing it to the table.

"Ah, before I forget," the clockmaker said, reaching into his coat pocket, "I believe I can add to this feast."

Manon raised her eyebrows as the old man pulled a corked, blue, bottle from its inside pocket, "Gazala," she cried in disbelief, "where did you..?"

"A customer of mine, a good man, slipped this to me this morning; he hid it in the back of a Tall clock."

"Then we shall drink to his initiative," she retorted, pulling four china mugs from a shelf.

"Indeed," Fyodor responded, nodding in agreement, "he only wishes he could do more."

Manon took the bottle from him and poured a small amount into each mug. "There are many who wish they could help, I know," she reflected, topping up the liqueur with hot water from the kettle, "but Ravel keeps them on a tight leash and feeds them so many lies, that they have forgotten how to think for themselves."

The clockmaker nodded again, "they are afraid, too," he said with a small sigh. "Oh, they may act all euphoric, believing they are Langaria's chosen people, digesting all that Ravel preaches but they are afraid, afraid that next week it could be them residing in the Borgos because of some new law or some jealous neighbour." He took the drink that Madame Viren offered and went back to his Shoboshic.

She picked up her own mug and looked away to the boarded window, "they say that the rebels liberated a truck that was bound for the mines," she said softly.

"There are always rumours," he countered and then smiled at the younger woman, "there is always hope," he said gently.

She looked into his compassionate blue eyes, "we must go on believing that, mustn't we?"

He took her hand in his, "always."

She stood up and delved into her skirt pocket, "here," she said placing a large pear shaped pearl on the table next to him.

"What, what is this?" He asked puzzled, releasing her to pick it up.

"For you, you and Sophia, to help towards the medication."

"Manon, I can't…"

She closed his gnarled fingers around the gem, "yes you can," she assured. "Fyodor, when I'del and I first arrived here, we had nothing except a few belongings and the clothes on our backs. You and Sophia helped us find our feet, gave us more than you could give; we owe you so much."

"Anyone would have done the same."

"Would they? I've seen the animosity still between our peoples, even here, on these cramped streets. I've seen Tiranian and Andari youths fighting with broken bottles and steel rods while the City Guards take bets on the outcome. No, my dear Fyodor not everyone would."

"Andari or Tiranian," the older man said sadly, "they are just trying to survive, our situation brings out the worst in all of us."

"And the best," she said gently as she let go of his hand leaving the pearl still in his grasp. He looked up at her, "who would have thought enemies such as us," he said quietly.

"Who would of thought," she whispered back, tapping him lightly on the shoulder, "and you being part Kelownan too."

"Only by marriage," he jested as she picked up two of the mugs.

"I wish you and Sophia a good night, Fyodor and may Morpheus aid your rest."

"And may Noden, the Tiranian God of sleep, enlighten your dreams my dear Manon."

She gave him a subtle smile, "I think the Gazala will do that," she replied and joined her husband.

Fyodor went back to his food waiting until he heard the Virens draw their curtain around their part of the room before leaving the table. He took the other two mugs from where Manon had left them warming on the stove and turned the oil lamp down, navigating his way around the room from memory.

He pulled back the drapes and entered, Sophia immediately sat up in the bed, "Fyodor?" She asked tenderly.

The clockmaker lit a melted stub of a candle that had solidified on their dilapidated dresser, "I'm sorry dear, did I wake you?" He lent over the bed and kissed her on the forehead, touching the glow of her cheek as he did. His face crumbled with concern as he scrutinised every detail of her fragile frame trying to gauge her wellbeing.

She took his hand, he felt its coldness, "no, no I was just resting my eyes," she replied, making herself more comfortable, "did you eat?"

"Yes and what a feast it was," he said brightly, unbuttoning his woollen jerkin, "and I have a surprise for you."

He turned back to the dresser to pick up one of the china cups and walked over to her side of the bed. He sat on the hard edge of the mattress and placed the drink into her hands, helping to bring it to her lips. "Gazala," she cried in delight, looking up at him.

He smiled, the egg blue of her eyes still held that blithe spirit that had captured his heart all those years ago but the rest of her was being crushed by illness. He watched her try and gain control of each unsteady breath in an endeavour not to worry him. He put the mug to her lips again, "more?" He enquired.

She smiled, pushing it away momentarily, "I'm feeling much better, really," she emphasised, "maybe tomorrow I can help you with the repairs?" She took another large sip, letting the bitter taste of distilled plants and roots burn through her blood.

Fyodor lightly petted her head and kissed its crown saying tenderly, "maybe sweetheart, we shall see."

He stood up and she looked at him with her unblemished soul and smiled, "who needs medicines when I have your love."

He stooped down, kissing the turn of her nose and then stiffened, "Fyodor, what is it?"

A truck, his body went taut. He drew back the curtains and was met by the anxious face of I'del mirroring his own actions. They both stood cloistered and still in the semi-darkness as below them Fyodor's clocks caught every passing second. The old man swallowed as he heard the advance of footsteps fluting the cold earth with their uniformed tread, marking a pathway through the ice to their dwelling. The old oak door was pushed aside and a fist hammered at the entrance to their room, the wood buckling under the action. I'del looked across at the clockmaker, too scared to move, Manon joined her husband, placing her arm through his, pulling him close. Fyodor nervously licked his cracked bottom lip and inhaled, as if for protection, as he walked towards the door. He looked back at the Virens before opening it; they withdrew, slightly, into the gloom. A City Guard stood in the neglected foyer; he stared at the old man with ruthless eyes while his young face remained blank. "Fyodor Arnold?" He snapped, in a voice not long passed puberty.

The clockmaker held his gaze, "yes," he replied, his mind spiralling in panic.

"You are to be relocated," he informed him.

The old man swallowed, "relocated?"

The young guard rolled his eyes as if he was talking to an imbecile and thrust an official piece of paper at Fyodor, "by order of the Kelownan Supremacist Government."

Fyodor looked down at the sheet, the typed letters dancing on the page in a blurry waltz. He rubbed his eyes, making out a few short sentences, 'Fyodor Arnold of Tiranian decent,' 'to be relocated to Naq."

"Naq," he whispered ominously, "the, the mining town?"

"That's right old man," the boy mocked, "would you like me to read the rest of it to you, I have nothing better to do?"

He looked back at the guard, "but, but I'm a clockmaker," he argued, uselessly.

"And we have many good Kelownan clockmakers, here in the city; we cannot afford to support Tiranian tradesmen as well," he spat on the floor without turning his head away.

Fyodor looked down at the glob of sticky discharge that had coated his boots and then back to the boy. The guard stretched himself into his stature and placed a hand on the cosh at his side, challenging the old man, waiting for a reaction; Fyodor did nothing but let his shoulders drop in resignation of his fate. The young man smirked, enjoying his authority, "I also have a relocation order for a Sophia Arnold," he watched the clockmaker closely, relishing his distress.

Fyodor took the other piece paper the guard offered with a trembling hand, "my, my wife?" He questioned.

The young man snorted, "it is a state felony for any Kelownan citizen to marry," he raised his supple eyebrows, "or have a 'relationship' with those of another race. You should think yourself lucky that I am not here to arrest the both of you for this transgression," he said with all the insolence of his convictions.

"But she is ill," the clockmaker pleaded, trying to reach the guard's conscience, "please, just take me, let her stay."

The young man's eyes remain dismissive and callous, "the paperwork says two, these are my orders."

"Please, I will do the work of two, just let my wife stay here," Fyodor implored, "what, what if it were your mother, son, if she was sick…"

It was a mistake. The old man felt the impact from the cosh hit his shoulder, pushing him to the ground, "how dare you speak of my mother, you scum," the boy remonstrated, his voice high with anger.

Another blow struck his back, Fyodor put his hands up submissively, "now get up," the guard ordered, bending over the injured man, "and bring your old bitch out, unless you want me to go in there and do it for you?"

"There is no need, young man," they both looked up to see Sophia standing there dressed against the cold.

"Come my love," she said softly, offering her hand to her husband, "we must go."

Fyodor took his wife's hand and stood up. They looked at one another for a moment and Sophia offered him the cup with the Gazala, which was now cold. The clockmaker took it from her and put it to his lips, "one last drink," his wife whispered with sadness, her eyes full of meaning.

"One last drink," Fyodor repeated in understanding, swallowing the liqueur which she had laced with a lethal dose of her medication.

Sophia smiled and helped her husband with his jacket, "we are ready now," she said with great dignity and to Fyodor she whispered, "take my hand, my love."

The clockmaker held on to her and closed his eyes. He heard I'del cry out from within the gloom and felt a tender embrace, "Fyodor."

Manon held him, her body shuddering with tears, "shush," he said gently, releasing his wife so he could lift the younger woman's head, "shush, come now, it's not goodbye, we'll see each other again, once we get settled, we'll send word to you." The lie tainted his lips.

"Promise?" She sniffed.

"Of course," he feigned a smile as she let him go, hoping she couldn't see the truth in his eyes.

Fyodor took her hands in his and squeeze them; Manon bit back the tears, nodding before turning to encircle Sophia with her arms. Sophia kissed her cheek tenderly, "we must go now, Manon dear, we cannot keep this gentleman waiting," she said kindly.

"Yes, yes of course," Madam Viren replied, watching the clockmaker and his wife go.

I'del came and shut the door, the relief apparent on his face. Manon stood there, a little longer, rolling the pearl that Fyodor had returned in her hand for comfort, knowing she would never see them again.

There was a bridal veil of snow sparkling on the ground when Fyodor and Sophia walked out into the night, their hands entwined, both supporting the other. The clockmaker saw the empty truck just ahead but it looked a million miles away, he thought he would never make it, that his nerve would go. He licked his lips; he never dreamt his end would be like this, that he would forfeit his own life. He looked around him, at the vacant streets, trying to take in as much as he could, needing to see one last thing of beauty in the grime and hopelessness. He looked at Sophia and there it was; love. A tear fell down his face and she squeezed his hand as if she knew what he was thinking giving him the courage to take another step.

"This is our choice," she whispered, her breath dancing in the darkness.

"Yes," he said, not feeling the cold any more.

The young guard stopped them before they got to the transport and told them to wait. He then left and joined his colleagues who were loitering by the truck; it was then Fyodor noticed the black car. The door to this vehicle opened with a luxurious click that echoed in the silence and a figure stepped out into the night.

The guards coveted this stranger's movements and in the dim glow of the headlights Fyodor thought he saw a look of loathing cross each of their faces. He turned his attention back to the figure, which glided in their direction. It seemed out of place on these rundown streets and a little bizarre, for it was dressed in an opulent, white, fur that shadowed each step, merging with the ice on the ground. At first Fyodor thought that it was a woman, a girl, by the provocative and tempting sway of its hips but he was wrong. The form stopped when it reached them, removing the hood and for a moment the clockmaker stopped breathing.

"Morgan?" He cried in confusion, his heart beating again in a wave of emotion.

"Father," came the terse reply.

Fyodor glanced over this caricature of his son unable to believe his own eyes. This gaudy, painted, young man was the same baby he had rocked to sleep in his arms, the boy he'd bounced on his knee and the child the government had taken from him because he had shown he was 'different'. "They, they told us you were dead, that you died on the operating table," he stammered in bewilderment.

The angelic face, that was so reminiscent of Sophia, hardened, creasing the burgundy that stained his lips, "maybe it would have been better for you if I had," he hissed, unable to contain his hatred.

The old man rocked slightly, "I don't understand," he uttered, "why would they lie to us?"

Morgan sighed, raising a jewelled finger to touch his father's creased face as one would do to a small child, "because it benefited them to lie to you."

He leaned closer to his father and Fyodor could smell the pungent aroma of perfume, "most of those who endured that barbaric operation did die as the 'doctors' tried to perfect the procedure," he parted his golden hair to expose the deep scar that was heavily powdered in an attempt to conceal it.

The clockmaker winced and reached out with his fingertips to touch the mark but Morgan grabbed his fingers, squeezing them with the pain of memory until they clicked. The old man let out an anguished cry and his son loosened his grip. Fyodor cradled his aching hand, the hurt in his eyes coming more from his heart than his fingers. "But I was one of the lucky ones, father," Morgan continued pushing his hair back into place. "I lived."

"Then why…? the old man begun.

Morgan put a painted and manicured index finger to his father's lips, giving him a carnivorous stare that silenced the clockmaker, "the government and the scientists decided that some of those who survived the surgery could be experimented on, utilised for chemical and biological weapon trials because of their 'half blood.' Others, me included, were allowed to take a more 'active' part in Kelownan society, to become cannon fodder, laying mines on the boarders and any other assignments deemed to dangerous for those of good Kelownan blood."

The old man stared at his son, not knowing what to say. He looked around him, at the sleek car, at Morgan's bejewelled appearance, a realization dawning on him, "but now you work for that same government?" He asked, puzzled.

Morgan threw back his head and laughed, "oh father, how very little you know of what's going on around you. I do not work for Ravel's government, I 'work' for Ravel's benefactor. Someone who needs," he stopped and smiled, "who wants me for 'all' that I am. You see, the Kelownan butchers did not rid me of my gift and this patron sees it as just this and not an affliction," he curled his mouth around the last word and spat it in his father's direction. "I saw your signature on the consent form, you handed me over to them."

"I had no choice, son," Fyodor countered, "too many had come forward to testify against you, they would have found you guilty and sentenced you to death."

Morgan face coiled into a smile, "and they've all paid for their betrayal," he said coldly, "except for you and Quinn."

Sophia stepped between her son and husband, looking deep into her son's seething, blue eyes, "he never betrayed you, Morgan, he loves you, we both do," she touched his heavily rouged cheek with her fingers. "Look into my heart, use your gift, tell me that I lie," she placed both hands over her chest watching his face closely; Morgan stepped back as if he had been stung.

Moments passed and the snow fell as ashes, kissing those standing in its pall with icy lips. Morgan's thoughts began to tumble around his head; voices leapt like acrobats each one with a different resolve. He still felt his mother's touch on his cheek corrupting him with its sentimentality. He nearly faltered, for a moment the petals of his heart began to open but he had been bitter too long, there was no sunlight in his soul and the flower of emotion starved.

He grabbed Sophia by the arms, "I sense nothing in your heart but death, old woman," he spat.

"That maybe so son," she stammered, holding his gaze, "but there is also love for you."

Morgan gripped her tighter, shaking her with the strength of his own anger, "don't try and tell me what I see," he yelled pushing her to the ground.

Fyodor went to his wife's aid, helping her to sit up. He stared at his son, his eyes hostile, "you, you wouldn't know what love was, even if you did feel it, you, you are incapable of such an emotion."

"Fyodor please…" Sophia began, trying hard to control her breathing, which rasped against her chest.

"No, Sophia, this needs to be said. You were always distant, Morgan, cold, but we thought that our love would change that in you; we were wrong. Look at you, look what you've become, prancing around, made up like a festival performer," the old man shook his head, "but all of this, this excess, child, cannot hide the coldness of your true soul."

Morgan heard a few of the City Guards, snigger at their exchange; he turned to them, his face purple with rage, "take them away, now," he commanded, his voice a little high to be dynamic.

The guards looked at each other, raising an eyebrow or two and then walked lazily over to Fyodor and Sophia, "yes sir," one remarked pulling the old man away.

Sophia turned to her son as another guard grabbed at her arm, "I only hope, that this person you say you are with can live up to your expectation. I hope you can find some happiness Morgan," she said softly, her gaze unwavering.

Morgan watched as they began to load his parents in the truck. An uncontrollable anger shook his body and lamented in his ear, 'they've cheated you, Morgan, they've willingly kissed Death's cheek. You saw it, when you looked into your mother's soul, you saw Death's embrace around them both.'

It laughed, 'all this time you have waited for your revenge, to make them suffer and now they have taken that away from you.'

The words snapped around his mind, fuelling the turbulence of his expanding fury, until each separate thought seemed to rip at his brain. He pressed a palm against his forehead and tried to breathe but a fire of resentment clawed at his lungs. He heard laughter, mocking him, coming from his parent's building, he turned his head, listening more intently. No, it wasn't laughter it was the rhythmic tick of father's clocks from the basement below. Their synchronised echo pushed at the serrated edge of his anger, provoking the storm of his retribution. A blistering wave of invisible energy impacted in the cellar, juggling the timepieces into the air before turning them to ash. Its insatiable current spread along the network of pipes sparking an explosion as it collided with the heating fuel in the next room.

Morgan turned his back on the growing flames and gestured to one of the guards, "we have intelligence that this location is a meeting place for the rebels, see that no one escapes."

The guard went to ague but something in Morgan's countenance seized at his heart, turning his blood icy; he drew his weapon and pointed it towards the only exit.

Morgan saw the look of absolute dismay in his parents' faces as he climbed back into the car he had arrived in. He allowed himself a contented smile as he sank into the lavish, leather, seats, signalling to the driver to get underway by tapping on the glass partition. He brought his knees up to his chest and bundled the coat around him, the cold beginning to bite into his skin. The car pulled away from the glow of the building as the fire savoured each nook and cranny with an elated lick of flame. He heard a round of gunfire and smiled again, looking at his reflection in the side window, unable to contain his excitement for his revenge on Jonas Quinn.

As the car snaked its way through the darkness of Borgos no one noticed a figure watching it pass, a figure with a gaze of molten lava, "yes, Morgan," it whispered, "we will have our revenge on Jonas Quinn."


	2. Why Are We Strangers

Hey there – I know, I know I promised it wouldn't be long but I had two b'day parties to arrange, great fun but boy am I fried!

As always, a big bear hug to CT x (don't like it when you do the sad eyes!)

**Why Are We Strangers?**

Daniel watched Sarah sleep. Her face was peaceful and pearlescent against the mantle of her hair, which coiled around the pillows of the bed. He pulled the blanket over her, trying not to disturb her rest and then sat back in the chair. It had been two weeks since the Tok'ra had removed the symbiote and five days since she had returned to the SGC and Daniel was trying to help her cope with the nightmares that the separation had brought.

He rubbed his forehead, chronicling Osiris's capture in his head to ward off the creeping spectre of sleep that beckoned him with open arms.

_The Teltak landed, on what seemed, the only level piece of ground that the planet had to offer. Its engines grazed the rocky surface into clouds of swirling grey sand that fought against the current of the air. A Jaffa unit set up a parameter while SG1 and General Carter unloaded various items of desert equipment. _

"_No Stargate then?" O'Neill stated, his voice wrestling against the dust the wind was kicking around._

"_Oh that would just be too easy, Jack," Jacob replied, securing his canteen to his pack, "I guess Osiris thought this base would be safer without one."_

_The Colonel raised his eyebrows and nodded before checking the chamber of his pistol._

_Daniel stood at the edge of their conversation watching the clouds darken the formidable landscape with their nebulous shadows. "Not the most welcoming of places," he mused, wiping away the grit that swiped at his face._

_Teal'c agreed unrolling a length of material to wrap around his mouth and nose as the dust storm intensified._

"_Well maybe we can find you two a McDonald's," O'Neill responded, placing his binoculars in his vest while trying not to swallow mouthfuls of the planet. "How far Jacob?"_

_General Carter pointed north of their position, his arm buffeted by the wind, "our scans show a vast structure a couple of klicks in that direction," he raised his voice to be heard._

_Jack grimaced as handfuls of dirt slapped his face, "whoa, wait a minute, your scans? I thought you guys sent a recon team down here?"_

"_We did Jack but they couldn't get close due to a detection grid, we had to map the planet's surface from space."_

"_Oh, that makes me feel a whole lot better," O'Neill threw a glance at Sam._

"_Good," Jacob remarked, ignoring the sarcasm in Jack's voice. He then gestured to three of the Jaffa to accompany him, "Ash?"_

_The Tok'ra pilot looked up from his inspection of the spacecraft, "stayed here with the rest of the unit and run a sensory check every ten minutes. I don't want any surprises."_

_The austere man nodded and returned to his task; Jacob looked at the members of SG1, "shall we go, this planet has only five hours of daylight?"_

"_You call this daylight?" Jack answered adjusting his protective goggles._

_Daniel smiled as he began draping a scarf over his mouth and nose, "apparently the weather gets more primeval when the sun goes down," he mumbled through the material._

"_Then it is a shame Jonas Quinn is not with us," Teal'c responded, "he would have found this plant's weather," he paused, "'intriguing'."_

"_Maybe I can record it for him," Sam said throwing her pack over her back; the Jaffa acknowledged this with his customary nod. She then turned to Colonel O'Neill who was looking up at the sombre sky, "Sir?"_

_Jack cocked his head in her direction, "what sun, Carter?" He enquired seeing nothing but dark cloud._

_Their progress was slow, hampered, not only by the dust storm but also the brittle and uneven terrain that crumbled underfoot. Jacob led them, as best he could, using channels fashioned by the relentless wind that twisted around colossal statues of sleeping rock that seemed to be supporting the sky._

_After about an hour he stop behind a giant boulder, "the detection grid," he gasped, removing his scarf so he could take a sip of water, "every thirty seconds each of those devices sends out a network of light that senses any movement or change in the surrounding area."_

_Sam took out her binoculars and checked her watch. O'Neill mirrored her actions focusing his Steiner's on one of the pyramid shaped sensors that stood about twenty feet from their position. He pulled the scarf down from his face, "are you sure about the timing, Jacob?" He asked, checking his watch again._

_General Carter stood up and peered over at the detection units, nodding, "why?"_

"_They're not activating," Jack replied, turning his back toward the boulder to protect himself from the swirling squall._

_He handed Jacob his binoculars, Sam looked at her father, "Dad?"_

_General Carter observed the grid, verifying the time lapse with his own watch before squatting back behind the rock, "this doesn't make sense," he mused._

"_Could not the storm have rendered these devices inactive," Teal'c summarized._

"_No, I don't think so Teal'c" Jacob answered, "these storms are pretty routine and those sensors were built to withstand this planet's volatile climate."_

"_Maybe they've just malfunctioned?" Daniel offered, wiping his face in a damp cloth._

"_Now that would be just too convenient," O'Neill coughed, resting his head against the uneven surface of the boulder and pushing his goggles from his face_

"_Well we won't know for sure, Sir, until we get a closer look," Sam suggested._

"_Carter…" Jack began._

"_No she's right Jack," Jacob said getting to his feet, "we need to check this out. Sam I'll go, the Tok'ra are more familiar with this technology."_

"_I will accompany you, General Carter," Teal'c added, bringing his staff weapon in front of him._

_The elder Carter nodded, "I don't like this Jacob," O'Neill stated, with a heavy sigh. _

"_Neither do I Jack, neither do I"_

_O'Neill got to his feet and pulled out his MP9, "Okay let's do this."_

_Jack signalled to the Jaffa to take up positions either side of the rock, keeping an eye on the bordering outcrop of rocks, while Sam, Daniel and himself prepared to lay covering fire if they had need to._

_Daniel watched as the General and Teal'c headed cautiously to examine nearest device. He found that he had to shield his eyes against a large copper sun which had driven the storm from its sky. The glow was intense and strangely metallic, calming the planet with a cushion of heat. _

"_Damn weather," O'Neill expressed, trying to unfold his baseball cap with one hand._

_The Egyptologist smiled, "it's definitely 'changeable'," he agreed._

_Jack afforded him a glance, "they're coming back," Sam said, gesturing to Jacob and Teal'c with a sudden nod of her head._

"_That was quick," the Colonel submitted, narrowing his eyes as the two returned._

_Sam offered her father her canteen "thanks," he said breathlessly, taking a drink._

_He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, "they've been powered down," he said finally._

"_As in turned off?" Jack asked._

"_Yes" Jacob sighed._

"_And you don't find that odd?" O'Neill continued._

"_Very," the General replied surveying the surrounding area once more with a fleeting look, "or very opportunistic." _

_He paused for a moment, handing the water back to Sam, "that canyon, to the left, will bring us out just above the complex," he gestured towards a sculpted ravine._

"_And there's no other way in?" Jack enquired, scrutinizing the steep pathway. _

"_Unless you want to walk right up to the front door and announce our arrival," Jacob replied._

_O'Neill shook his head, taking out his sunglasses, "now that would take all the fun out of the surprise, now, wouldn't it?" _

_The base was cut into a natural amphitheatre of rock. Its outer walls were covered in sunk relief carvings that appeared almost three dimensional when the sun cast its many shadows along the figures' edges. A long processional path was flanked by stone figures of Egyptian Gods and looking down on these, straddling the entrance, was a vast, imposing, statue of a jackal-headed man. From their obscured position above, Jack whistled through his teeth, "that's one big puppy."_

"_That's no dog, Jack," Daniel enlightened, inching forward to get a better look, "that's a Jackal."_

_O'Neill looked at him, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder, "I thought Anubis was the jackal headed one?"_

_Daniel glanced at the Colonel, surprised, "what?" Jack asked in all innocence. _

"_O'Neill is right it is indeed an effigy of Anubis." Teal'c continued, "it is therefore unlikely than Osiris built this."_

"_So he took over this base when we kicked big A's sorry arse," Jack pushed his hair back under his cap and handed Daniel his binoculars. "Do you get the feeling Anubis was trying to compensate for something?"_

_Daniel shook his head, "I think Anubis was defiantly trying to make some sort of statement, yeah, I mean look at this building, its superlative. It's been constructed in the most hostile of environments. Carved out of the bare rock, by, I would guess, master craftsmen, over many years; God knows how many lives it took to build."_

_He looked at the others, chewing slightly on his bottom lip, "Daniel?" Sam prodded reading his expression._

"_This whole structure, it's too elaborate, this isn't just some Goa'uld base of operations, it's more like a, a monument, a tribute to Anubis's strength and supremacy."_

"_And Ragnarok's," Sam offered._

"_No Sam, I think this was constructed to be used after Ragnarok ascended and Anubis had taken another host…"_

"_Jonas?" Jacob submitted._

"_That was their initial plan," Daniel responded, "it was why they cloned him and it looks like this was constructed for when that happened. It's meant to house someone much more powerful than your average System Lord," he paused for a moment, "it looks like it was built for a god."_

"_Good job that little plan failed," Jack added._

"_It would have anyway, sir," Sam offered, "Jonas already has Goa'uld Chromosomes in his genetic makeup; his body would have rejected the symbiote."_

_O'Neill nodded, taking the Steiner's back from Daniel he began to scan the building. Drab, skeletal, birds nested like solemn shadows in cracks on the elaborate façade, feeding off a purple fungus that was rampant on the stonework. The many humble stone sentinels that edged the entrance were in disrepair and even 'Anubis' played host to a family of rat like creatures that were sheltering from the unremitting weather. _

"_Well, on closer inspection it looks like Osiris has let it go a tad," he commented. "T how many Jaffa have you seen?" _

"_I have not seen any, O'Neill, which I find most odd," the Jaffa answered, his quick eyes checking the temple once more. "If Osiris was making use of this structure he would make sure it was fortified against attack, he would not want such a building to fall into his enemies' hands." _

_Daniel coughed, "he would also have taken down the, the statue of Anubis, or, or replaced it with an image of himself, overlooking all the other gods, to stamp his…" _

_Jack glanced at him, "we get it Daniel."_

_Jacob went to say something when his radio clicked, "Jacob?"_

"_Go ahead Ash."_

"_There is a small craft heading in your direction. I believe it is another Teltak." _

_They heard the metallic boom of a ring platform activating and saw several Jaffa step out into the building._

"_They belong to Osiris," Teal'c informed them, squinting against the strong light of the sun._

"_There's a ring platform?" O'Neill countered looking at Jacob._

_Again the transport device initiated and Osiris stepped from it, his deep voice issuing orders from within Sarah._

"_Not an overwhelming force, I count twelve Jaffa," Jack said, following the path of the new arrivals._

_Sam watched as the Jaffa cautiously inspected the entrance, "looks like they're assessing the structure too, sir." _

"_Indeed it does Carter," O'Neill mused, silently deliberating._

"_Then we were given false information, but why? Why would someone go to all the trouble of letting us believe Osiris was using this as his base of operations?" Sam posed._

_Jacob made eye contact with O'Neill; both men silently acknowledging that the operative sent to Kelowna had been compromised and was in all probability dead._

_Jacob closed his eyes for a moment letting Selmak answer the question, "maybe to divert our focus away from Langaria," the symboite speculated, "we could not get close enough to confirm S'hang's intelligence on this planet because of the detection grid…"_

"_Which has now been conveniently turned off," Jack put in._

_The elder Carter glanced in his direction, "so," Selmak continued, "we had to trust in the information we were given and direct all our efforts here, hoping we would be able to put a stop to Osiris. But it would now seem that he is not the Goa'uld who has occupied Jonas Quinn's planet."_

"_Then who?" Daniel whispered, his eyes not leaving the host._

"_You know," Jack stated, chewing the inside of his cheek, "my money's on Ba'al," he turned to face the others._

"_Ba'al?" Jackson reiterated._

"_Well, I always say never trust a snakehead who's tortured you to death several times, Danny," he rolled his hands, "this sort of thing would be right up his street, cunning, devious, sly…" _

"_It would make sense," Selmak concurred, interrupting Jack, "after Aunbis's death Ba'al stepped back from the power struggle within the Goa'uld hierarchy. If Colonel O'Neill is right, he must have been busy consolidating his own power base, waiting, while these disputes weaken the other System Lords before making his move." _

"_Which would be?" O'Neill asked with open palms._

"_Hell Jack, I don't know," Jacob answered this time, shaking his head, "if he was going to take out the others he'd first have to…" he fell silent, looking towards the temple._

"_To eliminate Osiris," Daniel finished._

_Jacob nodded slowly as his radio clicked once more, "Ash?" _

"_Jacob, the Teltak is leaving orbit."_

_This time they all looked down to the complex, "it is abandoning Osiris," Teal'c voiced._

"_Well isn't that just handy," Jack offered, eyebrows raised in mock surprise._

"_Then this is a trap," Daniel stated, "for, for Osiris?"_

"_But why us?" Sam asked looking to her father, "why would Ba'al 'give' Osiris to us?"_

"_Maybe his forces are too busy on Langaria," Jacob offered unconvincingly._

_The wind began to pick up again, caressing the team with a chilly hand, O'Neill eased back on his heels, "so Jacob, it's your call. Wanna do a Goa'uld's dirty work for him?"_

_General Carter nodded, "I think we can't afford to miss this opportunity, Jack," he countered just as it began to snow._

_---------------_

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his watch realising he had dozed off. He turned his attention back to Sarah to find her looking up at him, a gentle smile lighting up her face, "hi", she said.

He returned the smile; Sarah pushed herself up in the bed and stretched, "what time is it?"

"Just gone nine."

She frowned, he grinned, "in the evening."

"Oh," she nodded, smoothing down the covers, "you've been here since this morning?" She asked.

He nodded with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "pretty much," he said quietly.

She thought for a moment, "you know, you could still make it, you've earned a break."

This time it was Daniel's turn to look puzzled, "where?"

She shook her head and sighed, "the infirmary staff, they invited you out for a drink."

He had forgotten, "that was tonight?"

She sighed, "surely you noticed that a few of the nurses had dressed up before leaving?"

He cringed, he hadn't been paying that much attention.

She leaned over and squeezed his hand, "no, I'd forgotten it's Daniel Jackson I'm talking to. The same Dr Daniel Jackson who didn't noticed a riot going on when we were excavating at the Theban Necropolis."

"I thought it was a celebration," he maintained innocently.

She combed her fingers through her hair and grinned, "you could still go," she suggested, "Jonas could use the company."

"Sam's gone with him and it's not company he needs it's a bodyguard, I've seen the way some of those nurses have been looking at him, it's practically predatory."

She arched her eyebrows, "ah, so you do pay attention."

She pulled her knees up to her chest to support her arms and he was reminded of their frequent lunches, on campus, when they would sit outside under a solid oak and discuss the process of mummification or Akhenaten or some translation Dr Jordan had set them.

Daniel smiled remembering how she would wrap her arms around her knees listening to him stumble over his opinion while the sunlight burnt the different tones of her hair.

"And who could blame them," she continued shaking Daniel back to the infirmary, "I mean he is kinda cute."

She began to draw her finger across the starched sheet, picking at its edge, "he reminds me of someone I knew, a lifetime ago," it was almost a stage whisper but Daniel turned to her.

"You never gave up on me did you Daniel?" She looked up into his face and tilted her head.

He got up and sat on the bed bringing her head towards him with a soft touch, "that's because I knew you were still in there that you would never give up," he said plainly. "You're a fighter Sarah, you always have been, there was never any doubt in my mind that we could save you."

He pushed her hair back; she fell against his chest and began to sob.

Morgan sat in his chamber looking at his clear reflection in the curved glass that sat on the table before him. He moved his fingertips tenderly over its arc, watching as the device illuminated. He removed his touch and took a sip of wine, sitting back against the soft pillows. He had used Anubis's machine twice before, the first time to find a suitable host to occupy at the SGC, the second time to see if Jonas Quinn could sense him deep within his chosen vehicle's body; he could not. Now it was time to have some fun.

He drained his glass letting the alcohol cushion his mind with its amethyst glow. He positioned himself over the apparatus and smiled as he waved his hand over the polished curvature. A fierce light bathed his upper body, turning his face ashen. Morgan felt his skin spark as the light transformed his being into golden embers of waltzing sunlight before drawing him into its pulse.

He awoke a few moments later curled up inside the host body, a feeling of displacement unsettling his consciousness. He closed his eyes and breathed, calming himself in the darkness of empty thought of another living being. When this was done he opened himself up, a little, to connect with the flow of emotions of the host and explore this mundane world through their eyes.

A/Ns: Sunk relief - Carvings in which the figures are outlined with heavy cut lines but the bodies are carved like a bas-relief.

Jonas will appear in the next chapter(s) so pleeeeze don't flame me, grill me, anyway you want me (sorry).

Stay tuned for Sam and Jonas in a bar :oP

(Fingers crossed (JQ style) that this appears in the Jonas list (it didn't last time?)


	3. Mingled Cream and Amber

**Chapter 3**

**Mingled Cream and Amber**

Fill with mingled cream and amber,**  
**I will drain that glass again**  
**Such hilarious visions clamber  
Through the chambers of my brain.**  
**Quaintest thoughts-queerest fancies,**  
**Come to life and fade away:  
What care I how time advances?  
I am drinking ale today.  
**--Edgar Allan Poe**

Sam switched off her cell and walked back into the bar. A thick soup of ambient sound curled around her making her hesitate by the entrance. The club was full of oblivious laughter and hazy conversation as ordinary people kicked off their shoes to dip their toes into the night; she envied them their normality. This, this was all so alien to her, not having to be on her guard, not having to look over her shoulder; sometimes she found it hard being just Sam Carter.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on the raw sax, letting it sharpen its edges on her soul while the singer's resonant voice whispered the song's seductive melody.

She eased into a smile, shaking her head and carried on past the old posters of Dizzy Gillespie, Billie Holiday & Charlie Parker. Technically she was still on duty, here to keep an eye on Jonas and make sure he gets back to the base in one piece.

She caught Kelownan's eye and he gave her an exaggerated wave from the table he was seated at. It was odd to see him out of his usual attire, dressed in a smart white shirt and blue jeans, it made him look even younger and made her feel a little older.

She waved back to reassure him and weaved her way around the other tables to join him.

"Hey," she said taking a seat across from Jonas.

"Hey," he replied, slightly slurred.

Sam looked down at the table, noticing the five empty beer bottles on the Kelownan's left; how long had she been gone?

"Jonas have you drunk all those?" She gestured towards the empties.

"Yep," he responded with a lopsided grin.

She shook her head, "I was only gone ten minutes."

"It's okay I've got two, no, three more," he tapped the open tops slowly with his finger, mindful not to miss one.

"Don't you think you should slow down a bit?"

He frowned, "on Kelowna it's considered rude to refuse a drink."

Sam looked at the lipstick marks that were scattered on his cheeks; there were several shades. "You didn't happen to mention this Kelownan practice to any of the nurses did you?"

He thought for a moment, screwing up his face and then nodded. "Okay, I'll tell you what," Sam posed, "I'll take one of these," she picked up a full bottle of beer, "and help you out a bit."

"Okay dokey," Jonas beamed, toasting her a little too aggressively with his own drink, "did you, did you managed to speak to Detective Peter, Pete?" He giggled to himself and gave her a 'butter wouldn't melt look'.

Sam shook her head, sinking back into the chair; this was going to be a long night.

She looked around the bar, "so do you have anything like this on Kelowna?"

Jonas took a gulp of foam as it oozed from the bottle and hiccupped slightly with the gas, "yeah, but not as," he searched for the right word, "as re-re-respectable," he placed his thumb awkwardly into the opening to stop the froth.

"You wouldn't take your date there, or, or your mother or sister," he continued, frowning as he tried to dislodge the digit from the bottle.

"But women are allowed?" She asked, reaching across to free Jonas's thumb.

He gave her a grateful grin and blew into his beer, showering the tabletop with bubbles, "the, the bars on Kelowna," he began excitedly, "are, are more for the men and so too are the women who frequent them. They don't really have music, well not like this, this..?"

"Jazz."

"Jazz," he repeated, letting the word smooth his tongue, "sometimes, on feast days, the mineworkers sing folk songs for free ale and oat cakes but other than that it's usually a few old drunks singing songs about the wars."

Sam nodded in understanding. Jonas sat back in his chair and stared at her for a while, tilting his head to one side, "what?" She enquired, puzzled.

The Kelowna sucked air through his teeth and then lent forward, "are, are you going to marry him, Pete?" He posed, rocking slightly like a child asking a difficult question.

Sam was stunned and caught off guard, "Jonas it's still early days, I, I haven't really thought that far ahead." She placed her beer back on the table with defensive thud and crossed her arms.

Jonas relaxed back again and nodded, "ah," he said knowingly, taking another sip.

"Ah what?" Sam responded slightly irritated.

The young man looked around him making sure they could not be overheard; he lent in again prompting Sam to do the same. "Nurse Stoughton said you had trouble, um," he chewed the inside of his cheek, "um committing."

"Nurse who…?"

"Stoughton, tall, willowy, big hands," he studied his own hands, "very large hands for a woman but not for a nurse I guess," he looked back to Sam.

She shook her head not recognizing the description.

"No matter," Jonas continued with a wave of his hand, "in fact most of the nurses are amazed you and Pete have lasted this long," he frowned, "apparently you seem to have a problem when it comes to 'lasting' relationships," he brandished an 'all knowing' index finger in her direction.

"Jonas I really think…"

He didn't heed the warning in her voice and rested on his elbow, inclining the beer towards her, "they're even running a book on it, well not so much a book as Siler put it on the infirmary's PC …"

"A book? On mine and Pete's relationship? For money?" She cried in astonishment, almost standing.

Jonas nodded, smiled and then grimaced, "ah," he said putting the bottle to his lips instead of a finger, "they said not to say anything," he looked at her timidly.

"I bet they did!" She was fuming, "I can't believe this. Who, who has, would put money on this?"

He swallowed, biting his bottom lip, wondering if he should mention the 'Black Widow' nickname; a spark of reason told him not to.

"Um, most of the, the base, except," he beamed, hoping to make her feel better, "Colonel O'Neill, he refused. Major Finlay said it's because he carries a torch for you." He frowned again, "I did tell her that you carried your own torch, offworld, on your BDUs," he patted his chest to emphasize torch wear, "but she just shook her head and laughed."

He lent nearer her ear and whispered, "I think it's s-shambolic," finishing with a small burp.

Sam reached out and wiped the lipstick from his face with her fingers, "and I think you need a coffee," she said.

"You're, you're not mad?" He asked, sitting back in the chair and rubbing the place Sam had touched.

"Not with you Jonas," she replied shaking her head, "but I really think you've had enough to drink. Don't you have hangovers on Kelowna?"

He gave her a half smile, which she reciprocated, "yeah," he replied sadly, "can't remember the last time I got one though," he raised his eyebrows at her.

Jonas placed the bottle back down and began to examine it closely separating himself from the conversation. Sam watched as the Kelownan began to pick at the label, "Jonas…"

He looked up, "do you ever get tired, Sam?" He asked his distant eyes fixed firmly on her face.

"Tired?"

"Yeah, of, of," he lowered his voice, "you know, 'saving the planet, the universe'?" He sat back, inflating his cheek.

She wasn't sure how to answer, "it's what I get paid for," she said lightly.

He smiled and tilted his head again, "don't you want a normal life, settle down, have kids, be just plain ol' Sssir-manth-ar Carter?"

She narrowed her eyes, was he reading her? But the Kelownan was looking past her, searching the wall for a solution, "yeah sometimes," she replied honestly, letting the bottle hover by her lips.

There was a round of applause, as the singer reached the end of the song, breaking into their conversation. Jonas went back to picking at the label while Sam watched him.

She reached out and touched his gloved hand, just as the piano began to spice the air, "are you okay?"

He took another drink, relishing the taste, "Samantha," he said again, "listener of God, no one ever calls you Samantha do they? Just Sam."

"It's just easier, I guess." She responded.

"Yeah, just easier," he reflected.

"Jonas…"

He put the bottled down and shrugged, "it would just be nice, that's all," his voice trailed off.

"Nice?"

He smiled but his eyes betrayed him, "just for one night, to be normal," he whispered, "to be plain old Jonas Quinn again."

He looked down at his hand, stretching it against the glove, she swallowed and squeezed it encouragingly, "perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to come out tonight, perhaps it was too soon."

He shrugged, "I guess I'm a little tired," he put his finger to his nose, "could be the result of a mad Goa'uld trying to cut out my heart." He spread his hand over his chest.

"My money's on the alcohol," Sam replied, pushing the bottle Jonas had been cradling to one side.

He watched it move like a kitten with a ball of wool, "I don't think it's helped," he stated with a yawn.

Sam began to stand, "Jonas, why don't you go get that coffee while I call a cab."

The Kelownan looked at her, "you do know coffee doesn't work? That caffeine is a, a diuretic?" He said earnestly, "I think I read somewhere that fruit juice is better for a hangover 'cos it contains a form of sugar called fructose, which helps the body burn alcohol faster. And water, you're meant to drink… "

She smiled, surrendering, "okay, okay, I'll be back in a few minutes, wait for me here."

Jonas watched her go and then picked up one of the full bottles letting it brush his lips. He thought about taking another sip but the thrill had gone; his mind had found its way back from the blurred vapour that had intoxicated its reasoning. He looked towards the bar; maybe he should grab a bottle of water.

* * *

Please review if you have time, it's just, it gets so lonely in here (sniff) 


	4. Five Colours In Her Hair

She's got a lip ring and 5 colours in her hair,  
Not into fashion but I love the clothes she wears,  
Her tattoo's always hidden by her underwear.  
She don't care.

Everybody wants to know her name,  
I threw a house party and she came  
Everyone asked me  
Who the hell is she?  
That weirdo with 5 colours in her hair. – Mcfly Five Colours In Her Hair

**gypsy**

(also gipsy)

• noun (pl. gypsies) a member of a travelling people with dark skin and hair, speaking the Romany language.

— ORIGIN originally _gipcyan_, short for Egyptian (because gypsies were believed to have come from Egypt).

A big thank you to CT & SR for their help and guidance – big hugs guys :0)

LJQ & Sache8 – hope you like this next bit

Naitriab – great to see you – you'll have to wait a little while for 'Sam's revenge'

* * *

Eddie Glass stood contented behind his bar. Every now and again he would polish the counter while absorbing the atmosphere of his club and smile. Jazz was the 'new black' and the punters flocked to the Pietrain to be stylish, to be chic, to be seen. It wasn't all about the music; he understood that, although the purist in him wished it was, Jazz was fashionable again and it was all money in the bank at the end of the day. 

'Why the Pietrain?' People would ask, expecting some musical anecdote. Eddie would just grin and point to a picture, over the bar, of a black and white pig, "it's a breed of pig," he'd reply, cryptically.

Their faces would flick with confusion, "you're British?" It was almost an accusation but Eddie would nod politely.

"Ah," they would say as if it was the answer to 'life, the universe and everything' and carry on with their drinks.

Eddie shook his head and tapped the photo lightly, "to you Gracie," he whispered, to an image that was a reminder of where he'd once been.

Little steps, he had told himself back then and little steps he'd taken to run away from the vampire of his past life that was sucking him dry; the pig farm being the first stop to getting himself clean. It seemed ironic, comical even but it had saved his life and it was no more comical that an alcoholic ex-junkie owning a bar. This had been his dream and he had fought his inner demons to make it happen. Okay, it was a daily test of wills but his resolve was strong and no matter how Bacchus, Dionysius and their cousin's, brother's, uncles beckoned him with opened corks he had Gracie to keep him on the straight and narrow.

He looked up and rubbed his well trimmed beard, which the lighting had turned a bashful scarlet. A stick, thin, redhead met his gaze. He tipped her a charismatic wink that made her blush the same colour as her hair before brushing her forehead, coyly, with a large hand.

"Hey what's a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?"

Eddie raised a silver eyebrow against the tan of his skin and turned to face the young woman at the bar, recognizing the soft, low, voice that wavered like a pubescent boy.

"Izzie," he beamed, his soul captivated by large, black, midnight eyes; if only he were twenty years younger.

"The usual?" He asked.

She raised a slim eyebrow in return and delved into her pant pocket, pulling out a handful of change and spreading it over the counter. She looked down at the assorted coins and nodded, an enchanting smile overwhelming the rhythm of his heart. Eddie turned to pour the drink, keeping his gaze on her in the mirror behind the bar.

He watched as she began to twist her ebony hair into an oriental clip, enthralled by the movement of her dexterous fingers as they tamed her feral tresses, which were flecked with traces of paint. These ubiquitous specks of colour lightly sprinkled her olive skin like freckles from a rainbow. He found himself following their playful pattern down her graceful neck to the curve of her breast. He shut his eyes but the colours were still there, swirling on the back of his lids, enticing his imagination.

He composed himself with a quick cough and placed a mat down in front of her, positioning the drink on top with a flourish, "you're not gonna let a girl drink alone?" She teased.

He let the husk of her voice massage his spine, "of course not," he replied, grabbing a coke off the shelf.

Izzie raised the glass to her lips, "to Gracie," she said softly.

Eddie smiled and tipped his bottle to the photograph before taking a drink. "How's the commission going?" He enquired, trying to sound nonchalant, while his blood simmered through his veins.

Izzie crossed her arms on the bar and buried her head in them, "I feel like I've sold my soul," she cried, dramatically, from their haven.

"That bad, eh?"

She sat back up, a gentle frown creasing her elfin features, "I don't think the guy understands my art," she said honestly, "he just wants something colourful to hang on the walls of his penthouse."

"But the money's good?" He offered.

"Hell yes," she grinned, finishing her drink, "I'll be able to take my sabbatical, tour the country, paint without worrying where the next meal's coming from. That's if I can get the damn things finished."

"Want another?" He gestured to her empty glass.

Izzie looked at the depleted coinage, "my shout," Eddie offered with a twinkle.

"Why, you sly old dog, you're not trying to get me drunk are you Mr Glass?" She posed mischievously while her eyes pierced his soul.

"Of course not, love," he placed his hand over his heart, to cover it from her scrutiny, "I'm just trying to help you find your muse. Same again?"

She put a finger to her yielding lips and chewed the nail while deciding, "unless you've any Absinth hiding on that top shelf."

He shook his head before pouring another JD into the shot glass.

Izzie wrapped her long fingers around the drink and toasted him with a flick of her wrist. Eddie watched her mouth seduce the glass and smiled wishing again for his wasted youth.

"Thanks, Eddie," she said, taking a tantalizing sip, "you're busy tonight," she reflected.

"Yeah, there's a crowd in from the base, nurses," he inclined his head to a group of ladies. "I 'fink' they're gonna drink me dry." His grin was all profit.

She smiled back, toying with the necklace her grandmother had given her on the day of her mother's funeral. The old lady had led her away from the drab Aunties and pinched Uncles who had solemnly stood over their drinks trying to find something refreshing to say in the stale air of the drawing room. They had walked out into the back yard, which boasted more than an empty pool and a basketball hoop, across the stripes of her father's flawless lawn. Izzie had hated that stretch of grass, it had become his obsession, ever since her mother's illness and as she trailed behind her Grandmother she pushed her polished shoes into its turf, with as much weight as an eight year-old could muster, in hope that her father would notice her footsteps.

Her cousins had watched their progress, from the shadows, wide eyed and curious as children so often are, daring each other to follow in snatched whispers that billowed in the cold.

They had stopped at the summer house with its floral frescos that curled around the windows and door adding a spark of colour to a garden of dying blooms; this was her Grandmother's place. It was where the old woman slept, in the summer months, so she could be close to the stars. It was wild and cluttered, filled with colourful knickknacks that had taken a lifetime to collect, each with a story to tell. Her Grandmother had sat her down amongst the bric-a-brac and pulled out a tissue wrapped parcel. She had handed it to Izzie and let the child carefully undo the silk ribbon that bound the gift; the necklace had been inside.

Her Grandmother had told her that this keepsake was very old, that it had been handed down from mother to daughter through countless generations of her family. It had been the only possession she had brought with her when she came to America as a child.

She told her that each had added their own personal charm to its length to guide and protect the next generation. That most of her people, the Romany, gypsies had perished in the storm of the Second World War and this was all she had left in remembrance of them.

Izzie had felt the weight of its heritage back then; she had felt the power of it prick her senses, warming to her touch. She had looked at her Grandmother and asked her why? Why her and not those others out playing in the frost?

"Because you have the sight, child," the old lady had answered, closing her young hand around it, "you have the sight."

Jonas never thought he would make it to the bar. The world around him began to take on a vague and surreal quality, like he was trapped in the maze of a cubist landscape. He was disorientated; everything was spinning around him in, loud, multicoloured, laughter, even the music seemed to mock his efforts to escape. Nurses lunged at him, with their oversized smiles and empowering pheromones but somehow he managed to avoid the glossy talons of their clutches.

Now he stood before his objective and yet it seemed miles away, the empty stool, a mountain to negotiate. He edged forward, his usual reasoning trapped in the candy floss of his mind. It had all seemed so clear, so rational, when he had left his seat but now the alcohol had gained the upper hand and it was living on fumes. He gingerly took hold of the stool, in case his vision had been tricked into believing it was solid matter and looked for a foothold.

"Do you need any help?" A soft voice asked.

Jonas looked up into a pair of dark eyes, so dark it was impossible to distinguish iris from pupil yet they seem to smoulder with intelligence and light.

He smiled, a genuine smile, the first for a while that held weight behind it, "jusht checking it's real," he said candidly, "seems my eyes are being a little deceitful tonight. I think I over did the beer," he whispered, "and now they're punishing me."

Izzie grinned at his openness and tapped the top of the stool; "see, quite real," her voice was like the notes of the sax.

"Ah," he countered, "but I could be seeing two." He held up three fingers.

She smiled again, taking his hand to guide it to the cushion and then stopped as she met his gaze. Izzie felt her senses snap as they touched the tissue paper of his soul and heard the distant words of Grandmother's prophesy fuel her heart. Jonas experienced his own awakening, his heart beating with purpose, a feeling he thought had die within him. They locked eyes, hungrily, their vision melting in the fire of fascination sparking between them, entwining their souls.

"What can I get you?" A clipped voice severed the bond.

Jonas turned to Eddie who was eyeing him with suspicion, "um water," he answered, quietly, his mouth dry, "please," he added touching his temple.

"Still or sparkling?" The barman's tone seemed to shred through the Kelownan's head.

It took a few seconds for Jonas to understand the question. He looked up into narrow blue eyes, "um still," he tried a smile but Eddie turned his back on it.

Jonas waited tearing at the paper mat that had been placed on the bar. He licked his waterless lips and without looking up he said gently, "Jonas Quinn."

Izzie counted the pulse of her heart. Jonas Quinn, it sounded so familiar and yet it was the first time she had heard it.

"Isabeau De Wilde," she replied, "but my friends call me Izzie."

He rolled a length of paper between his fingers, looking sideways in thought. She felt him hesitate, unsure if he should take that step. Izzie silently willed him to, to take that leap of faith.

"Izzie," he repeated, it was almost inaudible but she heard it and her soul smiled.

She could feel him reeling in his emotions, building walls. She swivelled on the stool toward him, Jonas continued to look down at the bar, focusing on things past.

Izzie reached out and gently touched his shoulder, "are you okay?" Her concern was sincere.

Jonas looked at her for a moment and then turned away, unable to relinquish any part of him.

She tried again, "that's obsidian, isn't it?" She asked, referring to the dark stone that hung around his neck on a length of cord.

He looked up, placing a hand on the stone, "yes," he said softly.

"May I?" She asked, reaching out to examine the gem.

Jonas nodded, removing his hand. "It's a beautiful piece," Izzie continued, her fingertips touching the stone's secrets.

Jonas looked down at her caress, "it was a gift from a friend," he explained. "She had it made for me, it's sort of a good luck charm," he smiled, wanting to added how he'd survived being sacrificed by a mad Goa'uld.

Izzie sensed it had recently been cleansed and had something to do with his heart, "a girlfriend?" She fished, misinterpreting the reading.

"No," he replied, softly, resting a gloved hand on top of hers.

She looked down at the leather and then into his eyes with a questioning stare; but he grew quiet instead. He went to withdraw his hand but she stopped him. "It's a part of who you are," she said, lifting the uncomfortable silence with an elegant smile.

"Yes," Jonas replied in a faint whisper, feeling her skin against his as she held the fragment of Obsidian that had been cut from his chest.

Izzie felt the stone's warmth but she never left his gaze, her grasp extending deep into his soul, scrying for answers.

"It's a powerful stone," she remarked, watching his eyes flicker with subtle light, "it creates a strong protective shield around you."

Jonas didn't answer. He felt himself fall into the stillness of those dark eyes like a man who had been awake too long. Izzie mentally wrapped her arms around him, soothing the pain he wore like his shadow, comforting the child that trembled inside him.

"Here's your water," Eddie placed the bottle down on the counter between them; the moment passed.

The barman eyed Jonas with renewed mistrust as the Kelownan realised he had no money; Izzie pushed the water away, "I have some Willow Bark tea at home, it's great for hangovers."

She felt him waver, covering his heart to save her own from harm but she was ready to take a chance; would he? She waited, each second stabbing at her soul. He turned back to the tables, she put her hand on his knee, "they'll find you," she said.

"I know," he whispered, nodding and getting down from the stool.

He smiled and held his hand out for her, to help her down; she smiled back, it was a start.

Eddie watched them and went to say something but Izzie shot him a look that told him she knew what she was doing. After all, her Grandmother had told her she would meet a 'star' man in a bar of pigs. She had thought it would be Brad Pitt, or George Clooney, or even, at one time in her life, Alan Rickman, she never dreamt it would be an alien called Jonas Quinn.

* * *

Thanks any for dropping by 

Until next time

Next: A tiny smidgen of Sam/Jack

Oh, oh, oh (footnote) I met CN at the Collectormania event at Milton Keynes :O)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**That Darn Pete**

"_If I had a Harley I'd leave it for a thief, and with the insurance I'd buy an Indian Chief" _Ancient Tribal Proverb

* * *

Jack rested his head back on his hands. The canvass chair creaked obligingly with his weight as he continued to stretch out his legs. He inhaled deeply, the fresh mountain air clearing his body and mind, baptizing him into the morning. The lake, before him, reflected nothing but clear sky in its peaceful continence, stirring only on the fingertips of the persuading breeze. He watched the hypnotic sway of the lure, dancing in the arms of the water, pulling at the fishing twine to join in their waltz. He closed his eyes and relaxed in the tranquillity of a new day, birds, trees and… He opened his eyes and sat up, the chair tipping unceremoniously forward; he dug his toes into the sod to steady himself. That noise? A slow, droning, buzz. He flicked his head from side to side trying to ascertain… There, he narrowed his eyes, on the lake, a lucent dragonfly, resplendent in the dawn. It hovered, swooping near the water, its body glowing with a sharp, lemony, light, unsettling the balance of the morning with its restless flitting. It turned in his direction, focusing on his frown, skimming across the water, slicing through its fluid skin, getting louder and louder, larger and larger. Jack shielded his face as the insect screeched towards him. He gasped; and tumbled out of bed.

"What?" O'Neill shook the dream from his head and untangled his body from the bedclothes, picking up his cell which lay shrieking on the floor.

"O'Neill," he snapped, focusing on the digital display of the bedside clock; 1:00AM it mocked.

"Carter, this better be good, do you have any idea what time… You've what? How the hell did that happen? No don't bother; I'm on my way."

He threw the phone down on the bed and got dressed.

---------

Colonel Jack O'Neill drew up outside the club and opened the passenger door of the SUV; Sam slid into the seat. "The Pietrain?" He questioned, looking up at throb of the neon sign.

"It's a jazz club," she replied, almost apologetically with a shrug of her shoulders.

The Colonel remained silent, staring off into the night; Sam took a deep breath, "I went to call a cab, when I returned Jonas had gone. We searched the club but…"

"A cab? I thought this had all been pre-arranged," he looked over at her, turning slightly in the seat.

Sam tried to ascertain his mood, "it had, sir, it was just," she chewed her cheek, speaking slowly, "Jonas had, had a bit too much to drink."

"He was drunk?" Did she detect a hint of a smile?

"Yes sir, apparently there's this old Kelownan custom about how it's considered impolite to refuse a drink …."

"Oh, this just gets better," O'Neill said, releasing his grip on the steering wheel and raising his eyebrows toward her.

Sam coughed slightly, "I left Jonas to make a quick phone call…" she continued, her discomfort reddening internally.

"And let me guess? While you were gone those infirmary harridans had plied Junior with copious amounts of alcohol," O'Neill sighed, maybe he should have vetoed this excursion.

"I think they just wanted to make sure he had a good time, Sir," she offered.

"I'll remind them of that when I sort out their field training in a few weeks, Antarctica's looking promising at the moment."

He took the steering wheel again, "well, any ideas before I call in the troops?"

"Actually sir, I have. While I was waiting for you to arrive, I noticed the CCTV camera," she pointed above the door, "I went to ask the owner if I could view the footage and he remembered Jonas leaving."

"By himself?" Jack hoped.

"No, sir, with a young lady, a regular at the bar, Isabeau De Wilde…"

Jack raised his eyebrows again, "she's an artist," Sam offered, as if it were an explanation, "lives not far from here, across from the park, I have her address."

She handed him a piece of paper, O'Neill looked at it suspiciously, "he was quite concerned," Sam continued, "apparently this is the first time she's ever left with someone, she usually has one or two drinks then returns home to work; she likes to paint at night. He says she's a nice girl."

"Oh, well then," O'Neill stated, starting the engine, "that makes everything hunky dory, for a moment there I had visions of Jonas in an NID lab somewhere."

He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal; Sam remained silent drawing the seatbelt around her, "what?" Jack asked, looking over at his passenger.

"Sir?"

"Carter?" He relaxed his arm over the curve of the wheel.

She let out a dutiful sigh, "sir, do you think we have the right to, to you know?"

"No, I don't know," he sounded annoyed.

She tried again, "Jonas could be just doing," she paused, "what young men do."

Jack looked at her for a moment, his face blank and then focused on the road, "he hasn't got permission, Carter."

------

Izzie sat at the window her knees tucked under her chin, watching the street below. She briefly turned her attention to the closed bathroom, listening for signs of life as Jonas reacquainted himself with his breakfast, lunch and dinner. She turned back to the view, combing out her hair with her fingers and reflected on the evening.

_They hadn't talked much, at first, just moved around like apposing magnetic poles, each waiting on the other's silence. Jonas had sipped his tea, politely, not wanting to venture out of his protective circle, keeping Izzie at arm's length; but he was inquisitive by nature and this curiosity led them to view her art. She watched as his eyes explored her paintings, consuming the images on the canvas, understanding each brushstroke as if he had placed it there himself. He touched their surface with his fingertips, seeing more than colour, light and shadow, grasping the concept behind the paint, touching her soul. She took his gloved hand in hers and directed him to several more paintings, covered in the corner of the room. Without saying a word she removed the sheet and stepped back, letting him examine them on his own. _

_Jonas knelt down taking the first image between his hands. It was a portrait of a man, as old as the world, painted entirely in hues of watery brown; the white of the canvas replicating the cloth wrapped around the man's emaciated waist. He was sat crossed legged on the ground, his withered fingers encircling a lump of clay, while he stared out of the painting with sightless eyes._

_The second was of two small, ragged, children running into the canvas through a field of statuesque grass. The subtle colours flowed into each other shrouding the picture in a dreamlike veil but Jonas recognised each obscure detail._

_The third was more menacing, a rich and velvet representation of nightmares and malevolence, thickly painted in a violent frenzy of carnival colours. The central figure stood surrounded by the cosmos, his face covered by a hood, a giant serpent binding his body in its coils. This figure held a mirror which reflected not himself but his opposite, a being of light and morality._

"_These are my dreams," Izzie explained, reaching over to touch the outline in the glass._

"_This is my life," Jonas countered, laying his hand on her fingers._

_--------_

Jack pulled on the parking brake and looked over at the three storey tenement, his eyes picking out the multi-coloured woodwork, which was muted against the black of the night and the many wind chimes that jingled to the breeze.

"Very nineteen-sixty-nine," he scoffed, releasing his belt.

"Looks like a converted family house," Sam offered mirroring the Colonel's actions.

They stepped out into the street making their way across to the building, "so, Carter," O'Neill began, "have you got any plans for the weekend?"

Sam frowned and then raised her eyebrows, "not at the moment, why?"

"Well, you know I'm going to the cabin if you're at a loose end."

"Fishing?" Sam screwed up her nose; O'Neill turned to face her.

"No, Carter, you don't have to fish there are plenty of other things to do."

"Such as?"

"Walking or you could bring your bike."

"My bike?"

O'Neill sighed as if she was making hard work of the conversation, "yes Carter, the 1940 Indian you _finally_ restored last Fall, there's plenty of open roads and dirt tracks up there and I've plenty of supplies in, so if you were at a loose end," he posed, opening his hands.

She pursed and twisted her lips, Jack saw her hesitate, "and I'll even leave my Simpsons tapes at home."

Sam raised her eyebrows in surprise and then grinned making the street lamps pale by comparison; she began to nod just as her phone rang.

She gave an apologetic smile and lifted the cell from her pocket, turning her back on O'Neill.

"Hey yourself, did you get my message…. sure…. This weekend?" Sam turned back to the Colonel who gave her a dismissive wave. "No, no plans… Yeah that would be great… Okay see you then," she gave a little giggle that seem so out of character, "bye," she whispered softly.

Sam closed the phone, "perhaps another time, sir?" She said tucking the cell back in her pocket.

"Yeah, sure Carter," Jack replied with indifference.

-----------

Izzie had watched them walk across the concerted lawn, so it came as no surprise when the doorbell chimed its melody.

She got up from the window and opened the door. A tall, older man stood in the frame, "Isabeau De Wilde?" He enquired.

"Izzie, please," she said in a rich voice, "you must be Major Carter?" She posed with a mischievous smile.

A blonde woman gently shouldered passed the man, "I'm Major Carter," she announced, "this is Colonel O'Neill," she gestured to her companion.

'She knew that,' Jack summarise, watching her black eyes glint with amusement.

"Oh, when Jonas said Sam I just presumed," she left it open. "You better come in," Izzie said, motioning with a sweep of her arm.

"So he's here?" Jack said brusquely, looking round the cluttered room.

"He's in the bathroom reacquainting himself with his breakfast, lunch and dinner by the sounds of it," the young woman smiled, inclining her head to a wooden door.

O'Neill grimaced, "Carter," he commanded not making eye contact with his 2IC.

Sam sighed and walked to the bathroom, knocking on the door before entering.

"Can I get you something, Colonel?" Izzie asked from the chaos that was commonly known as her kitchen.

Jack looked at the bright assortment of mismatched mugs and herbal beverages; he shook his head. Izzie filled a large kettle with water and placed it on the stove, "he was going to give you guys a call, said you'd probably worry but we got to talking and then…" She gestured to the bathroom again.

O'Neill nodded watching her closely, his gut telling him she knew more than she was letting on, "so, what did you and Jonas talk about?" He asked casually, crossing his arms.

"Oh, nothing much," she responded unperturbed, placing a small muslin bag in a cup.

Jack continued to observe her every movement deliberating on his next question. She looked up, serenely, those onyx eyes, beguiling, "you have something else on your mind Colonel?" She posed.

O'Neill met her gaze but there was nothing confrontational from either one of them, more a respect. Jack shrugged, "do you make a habit of this, picking up complete strangers from bars?"

It was none of his business, he knew that but he also needed to be sure that this dazzling young woman was not part of some elaborate NID plot.

Izzie smiled through the mist of steam from the kettle giving her a wraithlike demeanour, "no, but Jonas was different," she said simply.

"Different?"

"Do you know you do that a lot? Ask a question with the last word of the pervious answer?" She poured the water over the herbs in her cup.

He frowned and then twitched a diminutive smile; he couldn't help it, he liked this girl, "different?" He repeated, lifting his eyebrows.

Izzie looked up, "yeah, different," she replied as if the words held more than the answer; it was all she was going to give him, it was all he needed.

Jack relaxed into a small smile and looked towards the bathroom, "guess he over did it," the young woman volunteered from the rim of her cup.

"I guess he did," O'Neill mused, grimacing slightly at the dry retching sound amplified by the toilet bowl.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" Izzie asked again.

Jack shook his head, checking his watch to ease his restlessness, "no thanks," he replied, rocking on his heels.

A respectful silence settled into the room while they waited, each preoccupied with their own thoughts without the need for polite conversation.

The bathroom door opened, immersing Izzie and O'Neill in a harsh neon glow. They both glanced at the silhouetted figures that seemed to materialize from its starkness.

Sam gave Jack a look that carved through him, he shrugged it off, "you know I'm no good with that sort of stuff," he offered as an excuse.

Jonas looked at O'Neill unsure if his eyes were deceiving him, he blinked trying to focus. He held out an index finger, as if it were a sword and pushed it into Jack's arm with immense concentration, "oh," he said finally, looking as if he was going to throw up all over again; the Colonel was real.

Jack looked down at the offending digit, wrapping his grasp around it to stop its prodding, "oh indeed," he countered.

Jonas took a step back and looked towards Sam, his eyebrows pushing beseechingly, "you didn't mention the torch, did you? I don't want to get anyone into trouble." He half whispered.

O'Neill glowered towards Sam but she held up her hand, "let's just get back to the base," she replied, fatigue snapping at her corners.

Jack tilted his head in agreement and steadied Jonas to lead him out the door.

"Wait," Izzie cried, throwing a smile at Sam, "here," she placed a card in the Kelownan's shirt pocket.

"My phone number," she enlightened to all those listening.

Jonas tapped it and grinned, "thanks," he said gently, "for everything." Izzie nodded.

------------

To:-

Lwyll, Lei Fon & LJQ – thank you for your kind words. :o)

To everyone else thanks for stopping by

and

To CT & SR your help has been invaluable.

Hugs to you all.


	6. The Snake and The Scorpion

**Chapter 6**

**The Snake And The Scorpion**

Because we focused on the snake, we missed the scorpion. – Egyptian proverb.

---------------------

Kianna Cyr advanced along the never-ending corridors of the Ha'tak. Her long strides were matched by the Jaffa who escorted her, his face concealed by the dispassionate steel head of a cobra.

The Jaffa indicated for her to stop at the entrance to Ba'al's chambers and paused while the doors slid open; without hesitation Kianna went in, leaving her guide to wait outside for her return.

Ba'al sat in front of a chess board, hardly noticing her arrival. To his left, reclining on an assortment of plush cushions, the Hok'tar, Morgan, wallowed in self indulgence, being preened and petted by several pretty boys. A number of them looked up, as she passed, whispering behind their small hands to peals of contemptuous laughter.

Kianna eyed them with distain but was careful to repress her deeper feelings, for even though Morgan appeared apathetic she sensed him burrowing into her thoughts. She knew, from past experience, that he was only able to skim the surface of her mind but even this minor intrusion sickened her. She felt him claw around in her head, probing, trying to provoke her into some sort of admission but she blocked his efforts by using her host's suppressed emotions like a blast from a Zat'n'ktel. She saw Morgan slump against the cushions, his cherried lips curdle with pain as he pressed a bloodless hand to an equally blanched forehead.

She allowed herself a contented smile, which didn't dwell long on her lips for fear of reprisal from the acrimonious young man. Without a second glance she made her way to her Lord and Master.

Ba'al pondered the board before him, his experienced mind calculating each perspective move while he waited with the serenity and fortitude of age. The white rook tilted slightly before levitating and moving to take his bishop. The Goa'uld looked up at Morgan and smiled with hardened lips, "you are rash, my Hok'tar," he said, moving his queen to take the castle.

Morgan returned Ba'al's gaze, "no, my lord," he replied, "I play with passion and abandonment as is my nature." The young man lowered his eyes with all the coyness of a harlot; several of the boys giggled.

Ba'al remained dry and emotionless turning his gaze on the statuesque blonde, "report," he commanded.

Kianna fell obediently to her knees, "my lord, I have been able to review the data crystals that the Goa'uld Thanos left behind detailing the plans of his Naquadria research project."

Ba'al cocked an eyebrow in her direction, "I thought Anubis had 'acquired' them?"

"It seems some were left behind," Kianna stated.

The overlord nodded and waved for her to continue, turning his attention back to the game.

"I have learned from these crystals that Naquadria is not an original element to the planet. It seems that Thanos managed to create a small amount of this unstable compound during his occupation of Kelowna. While experimenting with its potential an accident occurred, causing a massive explosion that almost destroyed the planet. The resulting detonation released sub-atomic particles into Kelowna's crust, which catalysed, transforming a massive vein of Naquadah into its volatile derivative."

Ba'al held up his hand, "could we reproduce this 'experiment'?"

"I believe the Kelownans already have, my lord, when they released their Naquadria bomb on the neighbouring nations. The explosion may have set off a chain reaction which is transforming a large deposit of Naquadah as we speak. I will know more when the survey team returns from their excavations of the North West coast."

The overlord reclined back in the chair, opening his hands, "then this is good news."

Kianna inclined her head, "will the Kelownans reach their quota?" Ba'al demanded, concentrating on the game once more.

"Yes," she replied, "although Ravel is stockpiling a quantity for his own use."

Ba'al smiled, "I expected nothing less. I am sure you will be able to furnish me with the co-ordinates."

"As you wish," Kianna responded.

He lifted his queen from the board and studied it, rolling it between his fingers, "and how are the Kelownans fairing with their Naquadria research."

"Ravel has instructed me to inform you that they are making headway, believing they could produce a formidable weapon with the mineral."

Ba'al looked up and waited, "but in reality they are making little progress," Kianna answered the unspoken question.

"Their laboratories are ill equipped to handle such a task and their scientists are new to the project as most of those working on the original development were either killed or have been affected by the Naquadria. If I could be allowed access to this ship's facilities I am sure I would make greater advancements with the research."

Ba'al placed the queen back on the board, "and blow my ship up in the process. No Ashtoreth," he replied, using the symboite's name to stress the importance of his statement, "I believe it would be safer for the experiments to continue down on the planet."

The woman acknowledged this coolly, her eyes downcast so as not to let her true emotions show; Ba'al watched her closely and smiled.

He stood up and bent down to lift Kianna's chin to meet his gaze, "this new host suits you, I am sure you will be careful not to damage it."

Ashtoreth felt Morgan's scrutiny intensify with all the venom of a cancerous, green, snake. Again the overlord let a sneer twitch at his lips, enjoying the friction.

He motioned for her to stand, his touch still coveting her face, "and my new ally, Ravel, he does not suspect your true allegiance." Ba'al leaned closer, his words kissing her lips.

"He believes that you find my host appealing and that he will be able to use her to manipulate you."

Ba'al moved closer, his breath warm against her ear, "he is right, I do find this Kianna 'appealing'," he whispered delicately.

Ashtoreth turned her head to the side; the overlord caressed her short blonde hair before moving away. "I will soon be sending you someone to help with your research, someone with expert knowledge of the Naquadria project," he said, watching her reaction as he sat back on the chair.

She looked up; an anxious frown settling on her forehead, "my lord?"

He waved his hand imperiously to dismiss her; Ashtoreth bowed once more before leaving the overlord's presence.

Morgan stretched his lean body against the cushions and got to his feet. He poured himself a glass of blue liquid that sat in a crystal pitcher and tottered towards the Goa'uld. "I do not trust her," he hissed.

Ba'al laughed and beckoned him closer. "I do not need your powers to tell me that, my sweet Hok'tar," he said coldly, "but I need her expertise, for now."

He took the drink from Morgan and put it to his own lips, "and I believe you have work of your own to do?" He reprimanded.

The young man bowed theatrically and turned to leave, "do not disappoint me, Morgan," Ba'al called after him.

The Kelownan turned and smile, "I will make good my promised to you, my lord, and deliver Jonas Quinn."

Ba'al watched him go, "you had better," he said quietly, knocking Morgan's king to the board.

--------

Kianna entered the ring platform with the same snake headed escort she had arrived with. The Jaffa, at the control panel, activated the transportation device. As the rings channelled down on them her guided turned to her, "did Ba'al suspect you?"

"I believe not," Ashtoreth answered.

"And the Hok'tar?" He asked again.

"He suspects everyone," she replied with a mirthless smile.

There was a pause as they were sucked into the machine's vortex stretching their bodies into light. The shaft beamed them down to the planet where they re-materialised.

"Do not think you can cross us, Ashtoreth," the snake headed Jaffa spat.

"You forget who it was that saved you, Shol'va," she replied haughtily, her eyes glowing.

"Only because it was in your best interest to do so," he retorted, laying a restraining hand on her arm. "Do not think I would hesitate to remove you if the need arose."

She looked down at his grip, "but for now we need each other to survive," she said, unmoved by is threat.

He release her and faced the front as several Kelownan guards approached, "there will come a time when that is no longer true."

"Yes, there will, but for now tell your rebel masters that all goes well with our plan."

She stepped off the platform and headed to Ravel's office.

---------

Jonas slept a deep induced sleep that smothered his soul, unaware of unfolding events. A faint glow burnished his darkened room as a brume of light manifested by the bed. It drifted, for a moment, twisting like silk thread, spinning its feathery form until it became solid.

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;o)

Sache8 - Thank you – I try to keep everything connected, sometimes it flows and sometimes it 'don't'! Thanks for giving me the idea (in a Humming Bird review) to add Kianna in this story, I think she's got a lot to add……

LJQ – Yeah, I think throughout these stories Jonas and Jack have become more comfortable with each other and Jack is slightly protective. Guess Kelownan hangovers don't last very long.

Thanks to CT and Romanse for their time and honesty.


	7. Life, Death, Rebirth and Darkness

_**Chapter 7**_

**_Life, Death, Rebirth and Darkness_**

_And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him._

**_Revelation chapter 6,_**_ verses 8_

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The hooded figure looked down on the sleeping Kelownan, hesitating in its movement as if unsure. It gently sat down on the bed and swept a hand from its forehead to its crown to remove the covering obscuring its face. The cloth fell to the form's shoulders and revealed a spark of chestnut hair that curled slightly by the woman's jaw line.

She watched Jonas breathe, for a moment, her flat hand hovering above his chest, trying to find the resolve to touch him. She smiled, as only a mother can and reached across to smooth his brow with her fingertips, her mind calling softly to his soul. He stirred; she pulled back, waiting for him to settle, wanting more than anything to hold him in her embrace as she had once done to her own child. She bowed her head and tenderly placed his hand in hers, feeling the blade of emotion stab her heart as she silently held the child she had given up.

_Her memory floated back to the first time she had seen him, a small boy, stood in the dimness of Ragnarok's dormitory. She had hidden in the shadows between this world and hers, just wanting to observe, meaning to remain impartial. _

_Another boy was with him, a fragile being, twisted and deformed by genetic mutation, his crippled frame fighting death and losing. She watched Jonas hold the boy's crumbling hand until his heart trembled and sunk, unable to beat any more._

_Jonas bent over the child and kissed his high forehead before pulling a rough blanket over the body. He then straightened himself up and looked over in her direction, cocking his head to one side. _

_He stepped guardedly forward, a curiosity swimming in his eyes, lighting him from within. He reached out, sensing her presence, his fingertips brushing the haze of her skin, his touch exposing her aura._

"_Are you an angel?" He asked, with reverence._

_She remained silent, shimmering into her womanly form, stepping closer to him; he did not back away. She smiled and looked into his soul, letting its purity bathe her with its compassion, innocence and light; she looked away._

"_You are sad," he perceived, with all the honesty of a child._

_Again she did not answer. This child was everything that her own was not and yet she was looking into his eyes._

_Jonas took her hand with childlike eagerness and led her across to the dead child, "he was not long made," he informed her; thinking she had come to guide the boy's lost soul._

"_Many, who are such as this one, perish in the tank, but he fought like a true warrior to live each passing hour," he looked up at her, "they didn't even give him a number, surely he is worthy of a name?"_

"_Then maybe we should," she declared, stroking Jonas's head._

_He smiled for the first time, captivating her heart, "yes, maybe we should," he nodded and looked to her for guidance._

"_Ingvar," she whispered, "it means warrior."_

"_Ingvar," Jonas repeated and then he posed, "is it dark?"_

_This caught her by surprise, "is what dark?"_

"_Death," his gaze did not leave the other boy, "it's just, we have lost so many, I would not like to think of them somewhere cold and dark."_

_She couldn't help but smile, "the journey is different for each but light finds light as dark must go to dark."_

_He seemed satisfied with this, "will you take good care of him; help Ingvar find the light he deserves." _

_She nodded without promising, "I must go," she whispered, slowly fading into the background._

"_Will you come back?" He enquired enthusiastically._

_She could not answer but Oma knew she could no longer remain impartial; she wanted to save this child even if it meant going against all that her fellows believed in. She struggled against herself as she journeyed back to the ascended plane but as the haze around her brightened she found herself not where she expected. _

_A soft breeze toyed with her hair as it spread its cloak around the twists and turns of a lush countryside. Feathered creatures bounced on its welcome thermals, skating across a cloudless sky that shone crystal blue in the blaze of the sun. Before her stood a simple cottage, its whitewashed door open beckoning her to enter; she obliged._

_The room was lit with dusty sunlight, painting its contents an egg yolk yellow. An old man sat near a window turning the pages of a book; he did not look up, "ah Oma, my dear, please sit down." _

_He gestured to another austere looking chair; Oma nodded and sat down. "Master Olmec," she acknowledge, bemused._

_He smiled, "perhaps you can aid me with a dilemma?"_

"_Master?"_

_He turned the book over and set it down on a small table, careful not to lose his place, "listen." He tapped his ear with an aged index finger._

_She did as instructed and become aware of a frustrated buzzing; she looked towards Olmec._

"_A fly, there," he pointed to the window, "entangled in the deadly lace of a spider's web."_

_She looked in the direction the old man indicated and saw for herself the fitful struggle of the trapped insect, on the outside of the glass._

"_I do not understand?" She said candidly._

_He sighed with benevolence. "My dilemma is this, should I save the fly, therefore restoring peace and silence to my humble abode or should I let nature run its course and let the spider have its well earned meal?"_

_She looked into his violet eyes that seemed to sparkle in many different shades, "I do not know," she whispered, "it, it is only a fly." The words slipped cautiously out, holding more meaning than they revealed._

_They sat for a moment listening to the frantic drone of the trapped insect. "In the scheme of things, yes," Olmec ventured, "it is only a fly but it is in my power to save it, should I not give it a chance to live another day."_

_Oma felt her heart soften into million tears as it throbbed against her chest, "but what about the repercussions?" They were no longer talking about flies._

_He laughed, shaking his head, "there are always consequences for every action or inaction," he emphasised, "whatever our decision it has to be one we can carry with us until the end of our days without regret. The universe is a pretty canny insect; it never gives us a load we cannot bear, or a decision we cannot make."_

_A diligent breeze whispered into the room, its thoughtful embrace warming her skin, reminding her of a lost summer. Oma turned sadly back to the insect as Olmec waved his hand to free it._

"_You saved it?" She sounded surprised._

"_Yes," he responded, his eyes twinkling, "because I am a simple man who just wants to read a book in peace," he paused, "just as you are a mother first."_

_He reached across and took her hand, his touch was cold. "Maybe by saving something small we end up saving a piece of ourselves and a piece of the future. I feel the universe, I know its sadness, its joy, its failures, its hopes and sometimes I can make a difference," he smiled with regret, "not often, but sometimes."_

"_You save a fly."_

_He laughed and let go of her hand, "yes, and who is to say it is not worthy, not I."_

"_And the spider?"_

_The old man waved his hand dismissively, "he will learn to build a stronger web next time; such is the way of the universe."_

_She reflected on this but shook her head, "I do not know if I have the strength to defy our basic teachings."_

_He squeezed her hand and brushed her fringe away from her eyes, "do not think with your head when your heart rules you in this matter. Listen to its buzz, let it guide you. All things must change, my dear. What once was, now is no more. It is the only constant in the universe, why should the ascended be immune? You are strong enough to create a new path, know this and let it guide you."_

_She nodded and rose to her feet. She picked up the yellow covered book, keeping her finger in the page Olmec was reading, "The Maltese Falcon," she read, handing it back to him._

"_Yes, have you read it?"_

_She smiled shaking her head, "ah, well," he replied, tapping the title, "it'll always be here if you want to."_

_-----------_

Oma pulled the blanket around Jonas, more for her own comfort than his. She had made her decision, back then; she had listened to her heart and had saved him and his friends from her own son. She lent over and tenderly kissed his forehead, knowing she would save him once more.

----------------

Morgan entered his own chamber and dismissed his cavalcade of young boys with a sharp clap of his hands. When he was sure he was alone he retrieved several artefacts from an ostentatious dresser and placed them down on a square table by the foot of his bed.

He sauntered back to the cabinet and filled a copious glass with an ochre coloured liqueur, taking a long, satisfying, drink while watching himself in a mirror that filled most of the wall.

He looked over his shoulder at the artefacts and chewed his lips together in apprehension, draining the glass in one unconscious action. He placed it back down on the wood, turning to his reflection, touching the cold, lonely, glass and shedding a tear for the Dorian Grey who resided in its polish. He pressed his lips to his likeness to receive its unemotional kiss, stroking the flatness of its cheek with a shameless depravity and yearning; soon he would be no longer alone.

He laughed and threw his arms around himself, caressing his skin with his fingertips. He looked at his image and smiled, "soon we will have everything, my darling," he whispered, filling the glass again, "family, revenge and Ba'al's unconditional love. For who will be able to resist us when we give them the absolute power of a God?"

He began to spin around the room, glass in hand, "and he will love us for it and hold us in such high esteem that he will want us and only us."

He stopped at the table, "but first, my darling, I feel the need for a sibling."

He pulled a green crystal from a velvet pouch, beckoning the light to refract off its lustre by turning it in his grasp. He brushed his lips against its chartreuse blush before seating it in the oblong base unit that waited patiently to be coupled. The crystal pulsated with light, enveloping the room in its leafy glow. Morgan touched the cut façade, willing the stone to give up the secrets kept in its heart; the crystal obliged.

Ancient text shimmied around the room, whirling on the beat of sage light. Morgan touched the symbols, studying each connotation, feeling their worth tingle his heightened senses. When he was sure he had understood their order and meaning he set about his next task.

He loosened the robe he was wearing and licked his lips, feeling the closeness of the room stifle his uneasy skin with its heat. He began to unwrapped two pebbles that had been placed with the crystal, turning them over on the table so he could examine them carefully.

He traced the symbols that had been etched on their respective surfaces, 'death' and 'life', two words that are perpetually joined, each a step away from the next. He looked back at the cabinet, he needed another drink.

He filled the glass again and toasted himself in the mirror, trying hard not to notice the fear in his own eyes; 'he could do this,' he told himself, 'what had he to lose? Only his soul.'

He laughed but it was more a tense cry than one filled with joy. He touched the mirror, once more, thinking he saw something move across the room, a shadow creeping into the light but he dismissed it; it was just nerves.

Morgan went back to the table and picked up the two pebbles, placing one each in his hands. He closed his eyes and thought upon the Ancient text, letting the letters join in a prayer to bridge the void between the living and the dead.

The room tumbled towards him as the 'death' stone let out a surge of energy like an angry, ebony, sandstorm. This vortex covered him, ripping at his body to get to his soul, pulling at his flesh, sucking it from his bones. He struggled, mentally trying to shield himself, feeling the Reaper of all men squeeze his heart with icy fingers until his breath ceased and darkness summoned….

Morgan quickly placed the two stones together, pushing them against each other to terminate what he had started. He was thrown across the room and his heart began to pound like the hoofs of a pale horse, galloping back to the otherworld.

He pulled himself up to the mirror and touched his likeness, observing the age lines that had gathered around his mouth and eyes. They were hardly noticeable, to anyone else, but Morgan saw the crumpled depression of an old man. He pushed the liqueur bottle and glass off the dresser in anger, "this is his fault," he spat to his reflection, "Jonas Quinn's."

He buried his head in his hands and began to weep heated tears. "Then he should pay," a dark voice whispered in his mind as the shadows in the room surged.

Morgan looked up, "yes, yes he should," he replied, touching his face, trying to smooth the lines around his mouth.

"Use your anger, Morgan," the voice instructed, "use it to acquire what you seek."

The Kelownan looked round, answering the darkness that had encroached from the corners, "I don't know if I can…."

"You can. Ba'al has put a great trust in you, are you going to fail him at this most simple of tasks?"

"No, I just…."

"You need her Morgan and she will be dutiful to you and aid you in all things without question; she is the key."

"Yes," the young man replied, trance-like, "she_ is_ the key."

"As is Quinn," the gloom hissed back at him, "they are both the key to Ba'al's heart."

"Yes," Morgan answered with contempt, "I need them both."

He went back to the table and picked up the pebbles again, placing one in each hand. He let the bitterness and animosity of his soul stimulate his senses, drawing the energy he needed to protect his being. This time the 'life' stone emitted a ray of bright light opening a doorway above his head. Twisting around this shaft was a darkness discharged by the other pebble. Morgan felt its blackness bypass him and search for another, a soul still tainted, not quite complete and true, one that had tasted all the fire and rage of hatred, one who could be persuaded to return, one whose light was made from the darkness within her.

Morgan felt himself weaken as his very core was sapped of its energy. His breath grazed his chest as the stones used each heartbeat to fuel their quest. His mind began to float, trapped in the whirlpool of Ancient knowledge that was beyond his comprehension and nature. He felt sick, his stomach swelled in a tsunami of acidic bile pushing with force against his throat, he lurched forward and fell to the floor; everything stopped.

It was dark. The lights flickered like a moth against a burning bulb, their power fused by the stones' capacity. Morgan rolled over on his side, his body leaden and clumsy. He coughed, pulling himself up onto his hands and knees, his hair damp with perspiration. He wiped his sour mouth in his robe and looked up; he was not alone.

A pale body lay in front of him curled up in a foetal position, its spread of silver hair incandescence against the floor; the colourless form was naked and still. Morgan inched forward on his hands and touched its arm, drawing his fingers back as the figure stirred and stretched, almost cat like. It snapped its head in his direction, its dark, unfeeling, eyes considering him with all the savagery of something inhuman; and then it smiled an empty, heartless smile.

Morgan stood up and backed away, unsure. The form studied him and then looked down at its own body as if remembering each limb and movement. He watched as its skin began to bloom into a milky porcelain, almost the colour of his own. He smiled, unafraid, and held his hand out to the young woman on the floor. She took it in her own and he led her across to the bed, wrapping a sheet around her. She touched the silk of the material and smiled again, her eyes changing from black to a vibrant blue.

Morgan stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, "welcome back Cassandra," he whispered tenderly.

And in the corners of the room something nefarious laughed.

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_And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him._

**_Revelation chapter 6,_**_ verses 8_

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Yes she's back - so what ya think? Please let me know…..

Thank you :o)

To LJQ – thank you for your kindness and support.

Giford – Hope you like the update


	8. Breakfast

When I left my home

And my family,

I was no more than a boy

In the company of strangers

In the quiet of the railway station,

Running scared – The boxer – Paul Simon

--------------

Jack looked down at his Fruit Loops. He had eaten his way through two bowls and now, all that remained, was a shipwrecked few afloat on an ocean of discoloured milk. He put his spoon down and rubbed his eyes trying to find some zeal for the morning. A table of solemn nurses who looked far worse than he felt caught his eye. They glared at him with all the insolence their rank would allow. 'Ah', he acknowledged with a Colonel type smirk, 'news_ does_ travel fast around here.'

Unable to sleep, last night he had finished the 'field training' paperwork. He guessed, by the looks of it, Antarctica wasn't the preferred destination; hell he hoped he didn't get sick any time soon.

"Sir?"

Jack looked across the table at Sam, who, he must concede, looked far more radiant for lack of sleep than anyone he had ever known. In fact, the only sign that she had, had about three hours shut eye this morning were the numerous discarded packets of Sweet and Low she had used to improve the coffee.

"I'm sorry Carter you were saying?" Jack pushed the bowl to one side, the leftover loops surfing on the wave the movement caused.

"Sergeant Siler," she reiterated, "I was just saying how beneficial it would be if he were to join the training programme in Antarctica, only for a few weeks. His technical knowledge would be invaluable, especially if the base is going to be expanded."

She stirred her coffee and blew into the mug, "Sergeant Siler," O'Neill made a mental note as he looked into her expressionless face; Carter's poker face.

He frowned, rubbing his forehead, he knew her too well, 'Siler, what the hell had he done to warrant a trip to the ends of the Earth?'

"Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter," Jack looked up at the Jaffa standing over him, tray in hand.

"T, take a pew," Jack gestured to the empty seat by Sam.

The Jaffa nodded and sat down, placing his well organised tray in front of him. Jack viewed the large amount of food in wonder, "nothing like a full stomach to begin the day with," he remarked.

"Indeed," Teal'c countered, sprinkling sugar over his tomatoes, "breakfast provides vital nourishment and energy for starting the day," as he began to fold them into his scrambled egg.

Jack looked up at Sam and grimaced, "hey guys," Daniel sat down in the empty space by Jack, reaching over to grab a piece of Teal'c's French toast.

"Morning Daniel," O'Neill replied, a little crotchety, "we're chipper this morning."

The Egyptologist gave a mega smile, chewing between words, "Sarah's been discharged from the infirmary."

Sam smiled, "that's great news, Daniel," she replied.

"Yeah," he continued, "I'm helping her move into the guest quarters, so I can't stop," he gestured to an apple on the Jaffa's tray; Teal'c nodded.

"I hear Jonas got 'lost' last night?" Daniel couldn't help but smile, pocketing the fruit.

"And where did you hear that?" O'Neill asked abruptly.

The Egyptologist pulled out a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose loudly. He looked up at his colleagues, "summer cold," he explained with a quick smile. "Um Nurse Stoughton," he indicated, answering the Colonel's question and nodding in the direction of the infirmary.

"Stoughton?" Jack frowned.

"Tall, willowy red head, big hands," the other three replied in unison.

The Colonel moved back in his chair and then smiled, "talking of Junior," he stood up, "I think I'll go and take him some breakfast."

"Sir," Sam began.

"No Carter," Jack held up his hand and looked towards Teal'c, "it's the least I can do; after all, it's the most important meal of the day."

------------------

_The train station was packed with people. Jonas looked into their haunted faces and saw the pale spectre of fear in their eyes as they held onto to a few merger belonging knotted together in their haste to evacuate the boarder countries. The air was thick with noise and panic and the dust from the bombs._

_Women sobbed, hungry children cried, men jostled in the commotion for places near the platform as they tried to escape to the city and a new life. Trains had come and gone, bursting with human cargo like a caterpillar buried by a swarm of ants, no space evident inside the compartments or on the footplates or roof. _

_Jonas held tight to the woman's hand, confused and bewildered in the great throng of people, he looked up at her face and she smiled reassuringly. She led him, silently, through the broken mass of people, his small feet keeping pace with her, afraid to let go, afraid to become lost in this sea of the helpless. She stopped and took a step back placing her hands on his young shoulders. Jonas looked ahead of him, at the family sitting on the steps of a stone bridge, at the mother, father and young girl waiting patiently in the chaos that surrounded them; and they stared back with uncertainty at the lonely boy standing with an angel at his shoulder. _

_The mother got to her feet and walked forward, arms outstretched. "Jonas", she cried as if he had been lost to her, as if he belonged._

_The young boy titled his head, his past blurring as he stepped into his mother's embrace. She held him tight, to relieved to reprimand him for leaving her side. _

_Oma watched the transition, forgotten. She wanted to smile but her heart was fragmenting with every breath. She had saved Jonas from Ragnarok, her only child and yet she bled inside as she watched him in the arms of the woman he would now call mother, wishing it was her. After all, Jonas was cloned from her son, the child she had bore to save her people, the child who had brought such disappointment and misery into the universe, the son she had loved unconditionally and who had freely let the parasite Anubis cohabit his body. _

_She turned away; the hurt she felt cleaved her soul but at least she had been able to name him, Jonas, 'gift from god'._

_As Oma dissolved into the crowd she thought she heard an old voice whisper close to her ear, "take heart, my child, the universe always moves in circles."_

-------------------------

He had a bird, a woodpecker to be exact, hammering into his head. Jonas could hear its rhythmic beat pulsating from temple to temple, slitting his forehead wide open. He cracked open an eye, the light, like acid, burned its membrane. He shut it again but the noise continued.

He sat up and tried opening his eyes again, counting to three before exposing them to the strip light; it took all his resolve. He was relieved to find he was in his room at the SGC and not on some bizarre roller coaster which was liquidizing his stomach around his body.

Faces and words from the previous night stung his memory, teasing him with their unfinished snippets. He massaged his forehead as the world began to make sense around him and he realised there was somebody at the door.

Jonas fell out of bed in an ungainly windmill of spiralling limbs in his haste to answer the constant knocking. He quickly picked himself up but his legs seemed to resist any further movement causing his upper body to tip forward. Luckily, his momentum carried him towards the handle which he managed to grasp, yanking the door open as he stumbled.

Jack looked down on the young man and smiled, "breakfast?" He chirped.

Jonas swallowed; he wasn't sure what was making him feel worse, the aroma of fried food or Colonel O'Neill. He apologised and ran to the bathroom.

"I'll put this on the table then, shall I?" Jack called after him, placing the tray down.

There was a garbled reply from the bathroom before a pale looking Jonas returned to face O'Neill. The Kelownan knew this was coming, he just wished he had, had the time to prepare. He stood in front of his CO with a certain unease, clutching a hand towel for reassurance.

Jack lent against the wall and folded his arms, "so, did you have a good time last night?" The question was ambiguous.

Jonas flinched, he looked down at the towel and then back at the Colonel wondering if he should explain himself, wondering if it would do his cause any good. Jack met his gaze with raised eyebrows, waiting patiently for the young man's answer.

Jonas swallowed, twisting the towel, "I'm sorry, Sir, I just wanted…"

"To what Jonas? Be an NID lab rat? Give Carter a heart attack? Stop me from having a good night's sleep?" Jack jumped in, venting his disappointment at the Kelownan's actions.

Jonas let the towel drop to the floor and shook his head, 'what was the use'. He turned away from O'Neill and sank onto the bed resting his head in his hands. Jack watched him, noticing how drained and dejected the young man looked and he softened slightly. He moved across to one of the padded chairs the VIP quarters boasted and sat down.

Jonas began to massage the eye imprinted on his hand as if the constant rubbing would erase it. "I just wanted to be normal," he said simply.

He looked up at O'Neill, his eyes weary. Jack sat back in the chair, "you can't Jonas," he replied plainly.

The Kelownan sighed, he didn't want to argue, again there was no point, it was the truth; he wasn't normal.

Jack observed the alien ball his hand up into a fist, squeezing his fingers, fiercely, into his palm until the colour went from his knuckles. "So," he asked lightly, "did the alcohol work for you?"

Jonas relaxed at the question and shook his head, "although I did have a curious dream," he volunteered with a renewed enthusiasm.

Jack looked down at his watch and frowned uncomfortably, this was Daniel/Carter territory. He looked back to the Kelownan's eager face and sighed; he hoped he wasn't going to regret this.

O'Neill opened up his hands, "a dream?" He replied casually.

The young man smiled, knowing how uncomfortable the Colonel felt, "yeah, it doesn't matter," he said getting to his feet to inspect the breakfast tray.

Jack looked relieved, "you know maybe we could do this later," he looked at his watch again, "it's just we've got these French delegates coming and the General wants me to be around…" He trailed off watching Jonas dip some fried bread into an egg yolk and bite into it.

"You okay with the eating thing after last night?"

"Actually Colonel I'm famished," he looked up at Jack innocuously, taking a large sip of orange juice.

"Well if you're sure." O'Neill stated dumbfounded.

The Kelownan nodded, quickly demolishing a bacon slice, "anyway," he offered sucking the grease from his fingers, "I promised to help Daniel translate the footage of those frescoes while he's tied up in the same meeting, so I won't have much time to eat later."

Jack looked puzzled and shook his head; Jonas sighed, "the wall paintings SG11 found on P5S119, the ones that could lead us to Atlantis?"

"Oh those 'frescoes'. You know we find so many…"

"Yes sir," the Kelownan concluded, picking up his orange juice and heading for the door.

"You're not going out dressed like that are you?" Jack asked, eyebrows raised.

"Sir?" Jonas looked down at his boxers, "oh," he replied, noticing for the first time the jeans and shirt he wore last night folded neatly on another chair.

"Thank you sir." The younger man expressed.

"For what?" Jack asked.

"Getting me safely into bed, I'm afraid I don't remember much after we left Izzie's."

O'Neill smiled inwardly. In fact it was more a warming grin, the sort he normally reserved for when he had hooked and caught a monster carp after much exertion. His mood was lifting; this was just too good an opportunity.

"Oh I didn't," he answered, "I left you in Carter's capable hands."

Jonas visibly blushed, even the network of scars he carried on his body went a sort of rosé colour. "Major Carter?" He asked, his voice wavering slightly.

"Is there another?" Jack put in, innocently.

The Kelownan stopped chewing and placed the bread back down on the tray. "Are you okay Jonas? You look a bit shaky there."

"No, no Colonel, I'm, I'm fine," the Kelownan stammered, finding his smile again, trying to mask his embarrassment.

"Good, well then I'll leave you to get dressed," Jack continued heading out the door.

O'Neill walked away from the VIP quarters suppressing the urge to click his heels.

* * *

Thanks for stopping by :o) If you have time please let me know what you think.

LJQ: Thanks for the continuing support

Gifford: Thanks for the review

Next chapter we catch up with Morgan and Cassie……


	9. Wordsworth And Stephen King

"_But my lord, he is ours, you promised him to us, did we not create him."_

_The form's eyes sprang open, "he is more than you created. He holds the truth of the universe inside his fraught body and I will snub it out forever. I will take him with me to the shadows of my realm, where pain is the only light that shines and rip it from his carcass, while his heart still beats. There I will devour it and him until nothing but darkness remains, then all hope and faith will be gone and everything will be ours."_

_Ragnarok went to protest but the form laughed, a thick, syrupy laugh that held nothing but poison, "when you summoned me, after your defeat, did I not promise you great power? Have I not guided you, given you the means to rule your universe? Do not fear, Anubis will have his host, Quinn will not be some useless shell when I return him, he will be more than you hope for. Darkness and sin bring their own rewards as does the strength and power of a being without a soul. Then you will be able to ascend, my son, and take my starless night to higher planes. " – **extract from Leviathan**_

-----------------------------

Jonas rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger. He put his pencil down and let it roll across the sheet of paper he was using. He sighed and stretched out his back, reaching for the remote to pause the feed to the TV. The fresco jumped momentarily before expanding and remaining still on the screen.

Jonas moved closer to the image, picking up the pencil and depositing it behind his ear. He touched the monitor, wishing he could use his ability to 'read' the rich images, to have a deeper understanding of their story. He picked up the bottle of water that was nearby and unscrewed the top, looking back at his scribbled translation. He had only managed to decipher three of the red, gold and green paintings, portrayed on the temple ruins, but he had the same feeling as Daniel; that woven into or in-between the various deeds and exploits of this long dead nation was the Atlantis myth. Only he knew it wasn't a myth.

He stepped back and turned the sheet of paper round so he could read his notes, taking a sip of water as he studied his interpretations.

"Need any help?"

Jonas looked up and gave a welcoming smile, "Sarah, hi, please, please come in. You're looking well," he offered, placing the bottle back on the desk.

"Even in this uniform?" She looked down at her attire and raised her eyebrows.

Jonas mimicked her actions, scanning his own apparel, "I guess neither of us had time to pack. Although," he continued, crossing his arms, "I must say, I did prefer you in the Osiris collection."

She didn't flinch but broke into a warm smile; it was easy with Jonas, he never seemed to analyse her, there was no history between them just a comfortable friendship formed when their confinement in the infirmary had overlapped.

She laughed, "Goa'uld fashion, it used to chaff like hell."

"Ah, the practical side of being omnipotent!" He exclaimed.

She relaxed down into a chair, "so, I hear you're in the doghouse?"

The young man puzzled over the expression and then cringed, toying with the pencil, "yeah sort of, that's why I'm keeping a low profile in here."

She looked up at the screen, "are these the Wrnach frescoes."

Jonas looked surprised and then nodded. "Daniel's been raving about them for days and I can see why, they're beautiful," she explained.

"And very complex," Jonas added with a frustrated sigh.

Sarah stood up quickly and reached across to the Kelownan, taking the pencil from his ear, "so, my offer still stands. Do you need any help?" She waved it in front of him to emphasis her readiness.

The Alien regarded her for a moment, "are you sure, I mean you've just escaped the infirmary…"

"And I'm as bored as hell," she pleaded, "besides you're the only one who doesn't look at me as if I've just microwaved their favourite kitten."

"You're getting the stares, eh?" He asked, having experienced the same thing when he first arrived at the SGC.

Sarah nodded and Jonas sensed something else, he contemplated this next question, "and Daniel?"

She looked down at his notes and he thought he had overstepped their friendship, "I'm sorry…" He began.

"I see something different in his eyes, something that I don't think I can give him," she replied silently.

Jonas sat back down and waited, he knew she required time to say what needed to be exorcised.

Sarah mirrored his actions and gave a tentative smile, "I'm afraid that when he looks at me it's Sha're he sees deep in his heart," she replied plainly. "That through me he's somehow saved her and I don't know if I can compete. I still love him, I always will but I cannot give him the absolution he desires; I'm not her."

She shook her head miserable. "Have you spoken to Daniel about this?" Jonas asked.

She shrugged, "we talk but never head on. I guess we're too afraid that we might sever what we do have."

Jonas met her gaze, "I think maybe you should and then maybe you can both bury the past and start again. You shouldn't let this fester inside you Sarah."

"Is it that easy?" She asked.

"It can be," the Kelownan answered.

She reached over and squeezed his hand, "thanks," she whispered, wiping her eye with an index finger, "now let's look at these frescoes."

-------------------------

Sarah let out an exasperated sigh and looked across at the Kelownan, "they're hard work," she admitted putting her pencil down. "I've been away from this too long."

She buried her head in her hands before wiping her fingertips across her temples and down her hair. Jonas shook his head, "the many layers of interpretation make deciphering them problematical," he offered looking at how much she had already translated.

"You can say that again. I mean look," she pointed to several of the posing figures, "this block depicts the wedding of Dairi The Brave who had ruled the Wrnach for several years before taking a wife. On first glance that's all it appears to be, yet, incorporated into the bride's ceremonial dress is the actual wedding ritual. From a distance it looks like a delicate pattern but on closer inspection you can see the whole procedure in its intricate detail."

Jonas agreed, indicating to the scene he was transcribing, "it's the same with this. By what I can deduce, this image tells of a great storm that rocked the planet for many weeks, causing the people to take refuse in the caves bordering their homes. Written into the eddy of the prevailing wind are instructions or recipe on how to expel an evil spirit. You'd miss it if you didn't know what you were looking for."

Sarah sat back and blew her hair out of her eyes. "Have you been able to determine which Goa'uld ruled this planet?" She asked.

Jonas shook his head, "no, there has been no reference or indication of any Goa'uld presence."

"What, no artefacts or writings?" She sounded surprised.

"None at all," he replied with an open handed shrug.

"Then how did the Wrnach get there?" She sat forward, intrigued.

"That's the great mystery. The frescoes chronicling that part of their history have been destroyed over time."

"So it's plausible to think that the Wrnach could have arrived from Atlantis but why all these secret writings hidden in the illustrations? Who or what were they afraid of?" Sarah began to roll the pencil in thought.

"I don't know but it seems to be information that's usually passed on from one generation to the next. It's as if they were expecting some sort of plague or disaster that would wipe out a good portion of the population and the only way they had to pass on their knowledge was through these frescoes." He turned back to the screen as he spoke.

"If only we could determine what that threat was," Sarah smoothed out her translations with her palm as if the answer lay there.

Jonas nodded and picked up the remote, "can you see, there," he got up from his seat and pointed to the screen, "an owl?"

Sarah pushed her chair back and walked over to the TV, "its minute, I hadn't noticed it before," she said turning from the screen back to the alien.

"It's in every history block," the Kelownan continued excitedly, "it's the only image I can find that connects all the others together."

Sarah enlarged the illustration, absorbed, "it seems to be sleeping," she remarked. "You know in, in English folklore the Barn Owl has a sinister reputation owing to the fact it's the bird of darkness and darkness was always associated with death."

The Kelownan pondered this information, tapping his top lip with the side of his index finger. "Yon owl!--pray God that all be well! 'Tis worse than any funeral bell; as sure as I've the gift of sight, we shall be meeting ghosts to-night!" He whispered to the image.

The English woman raised her eyebrows and smiled, "Wordsworth?" She exclaimed.

Jonas blushed, "there's a book of poetry in the base library."

"Ah," she nodded and then asked, "are all the owls sleeping?"

The alien frowned, "on these sets of frescoes, yes but a lot of the temple is in ruins. That's why Dr Jackson's going back to the planet, to try and, and assess the damage and see if anything can be salvaged."

"Do we know what happened to the Wrnach?" Sarah asked, twisting her hair into a knot and securing it with her pencil.

The Kelownan shook his head, "they just seemed to stop writing, as if they had no need to record their history anymore. The Harlech, who inhabit the planet now, are just as intrigued with their ancestors as we are, that's why we have permission to return to the temple."

"And they've not been able to help with the translation in anyway?"

"No the Wrnach are a forgotten people save for a few legends and myths about ghostly vampires that the Harlech use to scare their children into obedience."

"Ah, the old 'eat your peas or Frank Dodd will get you,' approach," Sarah replied with a half smile.

Jonas looked confused, "it's a quote from Cujo, a novel by Stephen King, I take it the library hasn't got a copy?" Sarah explained.

The Kelownan shook his head, "well, if I ever get back to civilization I'll sort out my copy for you," She continued, going back to her seat.

"Thanks," Jonas replied with a slight reservation.

Sarah smiled and looked at her watch, realising they had been working for well over four hours. "Is that the time?" She cried almost apologetically, "sorry, I had no idea, have you other plans?"

The Kelownan shook his head, "Teal'c stopped by early to ask if I wanted to work out with him but I'm afraid I'm not up to it yet." He tapped his chest, "so no, no other plans."

He walked over to where she was sat. "He's not at the meeting then?" The English woman asked.

Jonas laughed, tiding away their notes, "no General Hammond was making it an alien free zone."

Sarah watched him for a moment, "but they know about the Goa'uld and have met Thor..."

"Yeah, but the Asgard look like aliens, I guess the General's keeping 'the aliens that look like us' encounter for another time."

Sarah smiled and nodded in understanding. "Are you hungry?" Jonas asked turning off the TV.

Sarah looked towards the door; she really wasn't up to a visit to the canteen. "I…." She began.

The young man began to rifle through the desk drawer, producing two large bags of potato chips, "there," he said, a little light headed from bending down, "Daniel always keeps a good supply."

Sarah inspected the bags, "very nutritious," she teased, with eyebrow arched.

"Ah, but I haven't finished yet," he replied heading off to the corner of the office; Sarah followed.

He moved a pile of large reference books to one side to reveal a mini-fridge. He got down on his knees and opened the door, handing Sarah several dips and an assortment of fruit from within. She smiled; cradling them until she could safely placed the items on the desk with the chips.

They both looked down at their feast, "well Mr Quinn," she grinned, "when you entertain you certainly do it with style."

"Why thank you, although," he ventured, unscrewing the top of the blue cheese dip, "I think we should give this one a miss." He passed it to her.

Sarah looked into the jar conceding that the contents had more blue in than cheese, "I think you could be right," she acknowledged, pulling a face.

------------------

Morgan's host walked passed Daniel Jackson's office, pausing for a moment to listen to the friendly banter coming from within. Deep inside Morgan smiled; an opportunity had opened itself up to him.

----------------

Cassandra watched Morgan's body stir. She moved to where he lay on the floor, leaning over to run her knuckle down his cheek. She drew back as his fragile eyelids flickered and his chest filled with oxygen.

She turned to the bed, with a nonchalant air, leaving him to recover on his own. She sat on the compliant mattress and gracefully rolled onto her front to observe the petulant young man from a distance.

Morgan stretched into his skin and sat up, clearly weakened by the device. "You were not gone long," Cassandra remarked with indifference, curling her silver hair around her finger.

"I must change hosts," the young man exclaimed, staggering to his feet.

Cassandra looked intrigued, "but that would be suicidal, my dear _brother_, you are already," she chose her words carefully, "exhausted from this trip. To change hosts, now, would be dangerous."

"Are you saying I am not powerful enough Cassandra dear?" Morgan hissed, tensing his fatigued body.

Cassandra sat up, tucking her legs under her, "I am sorry, I did not mean to speak out of turn," she explained, lowering her brilliant gaze, "I just believe it may be best to rest awhile, to regain your _full_ strength."

Morgan regarded her acrimoniously, his words primed with spite. "An opportunity has presented itself to me that I would be foolish to waste. Maybe you want me to fail; maybe you still harbour feelings for Quinn?"

He stumbled to the dresser and drank longingly from a twisted bottle, not bothering to pour the liquid into a waiting glass.

"You confuse me with the old Cassandra," she replied, "I am not that _girl_ anymore."

The Kelownan braced himself on the dresser, his head spinning, his body drained. He took another drink keeping his eyes firmly locked on Cassandra's seductive gaze which challenged his mood.

She smiled darkly, twisting her tongue against her lips, "although it was a pretty dalliance while it lasted."

Morgan walked across to her and sat behind her on the bed; she rested against him. "_Bother_ dear," she cooed, watching their reflection in the mirror.

"_Sister_", he echoed, "tell me, do you still crave him, I will not be cross with you?" He pulled her hair away from her neck with tender fingers.

"No," she replied extending her neck and closing her eyes. "I crave something more than love."

"And what is that my pet?" Morgan purred.

"Life and of course death," she replied, yielding to his indulgent caresses.

"And Quinn?" Morgan's voice spiked, his breath teasing her neck.

"He is the key to one, as I am the door to the other," she purred turning into his lips.

"But you still _lust_ after him? I can smell the desire on you." He held her from him, needing to see the answer in her eyes.

She smiled, pleasantly, "yes," she whispered, nuzzling into his ear, "but it is the desire to see his blood on my hands, just like mine is on his." She sat back and looked at her hands, turning them in front of her.

Morgan held them both in his, satisfied with her answer, "we must be patient, my sweet," he reminded her, "for Quinn must first help my master achieve his true status, as must you."

"My wish is only to serve you, _brother_ dear, in all things." She turned to face him, her eyes gleaming with zeal.

"Then we will be the best of friends," Morgan returned, brushing his lips against hers. "So let us toast to that," he continued, bringing the bottle to her mouth.

Cassandra took a large sip letting the liqueur sweeten her lips. The young man smiled, "I must go back now."

She held on to his hand, "do not fret so," he admonish, "I will come to no harm, I believe I can use the new host's emotions to work for me, magnify them without risk to myself."

Cassandra stood up and offered Morgan her hand, "I have a better idea, let me come with you."

The Kelownan looked up at her, "I do not understand?"

"Brother dear, use my meagre strength to boost your own, that way we can be sure that the device will not sap all your strength."

"Can it be done?" He asked standing.

"I cannot see why not." She interlocked their fingers, "if we join, we will be as one. Surely it is worth a try?"

Morgan smiled and led her across to the device. He sat in front of it and Cassandra sat on his lap. They placed their hands on the glass dome, one on top of the other. "Oh sweet child, you do have my best interest at heart."

She turned her lips to him and he drank heavily from her mouth with his tongue; she reciprocated, her eyes turning black, 'for now, _brother_ dear,' she said quietly to herself, 'for now.'

Morgan felt the emptiness of Cassandra shudder through his being. It was as if he was linked with a petrified soul, an ice cold and emotionless statue but he was too exhausted to understand, too bitter to care. He curled around her as she embraced him with the dusk of her strength, the darkness coursing through both their twisted hearts.

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Again, a heartfelt hug to all of you - Thank you.

:o)


	10. Bananas and Blood

Thank you, thank you for all the wonderful reviews, you make this all possible :o)

Sorry for the delay but have been on my holibobs and I'm trying to catch up – plus the fact that I'm having internet probs!

Thanks to CT & Romanse for all their support.

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_Jonas nodded, he felt a coldness creep over him, "now Ragnarok's just an empty vessel waiting to be filled, again," he said almost in a whisper._

"_Filled by what?" Jack asked not liking where this was going._

_Jonas hesitated pressing his hands together and placing them under his nose as if in prayer, "the darkness is coming, Colonel" he said softly, "and it will need a host so it can play one last hand to win control of the universe. Once it takes on corporeal form, like Olmec, it can be defeated. We do not have much time, it will sense the shift in power, their loss, my return and it will come seeking vengeance." - **extract from Leviathan** _

--------------------------

Daniel let out an audible sigh as he left the briefing room. The meeting had been hard work, not helped, he must admit, by Jack's diplomatic skills. He shook his head, wondering how a simple, low key, information exchange had got so, so insurmountable; he hoped General Hammond would be able to calm the situation down over lunch.

Clutching his leather portfolio under his arm he briskly walked to the elevator hoping to stop by his office before rejoining the delegation. The doors opened and Daniel stepped inside glad for a few moments alone. He leant against the wall feeling the pressure of the cold build up in his head, numbing his thought process. A slight shiver ran though his body, making him instinctively check the confined space to see if he was alone; of course he was. He rubbed his dull forehead thinking that he should stop off at the infirmary to see if he could get a decongestant to clear the pounding.

The elevator doors opened once more and Daniel hesitated before getting out. He suddenly felt weary.

--------------

Sarah balanced the last scraping of Salsa on a broken chip and popped it into her mouth with delight. Jonas screwed an empty chip packet into a tight ball and threw it in the general direction of the bin, missing the receptacle by a foot. The English woman laughed and pushed a banana in the alien's direction, "here," she directed, "I hear you have preference for these."

Jonas raised his eyebrows but took the fruit and began to peel its long skin, "you know," he commented, "I can't understand the fixation you humans have with this." He took a large bite before studying the banana.

Sarah smirked, "maybe I should get Colonel O'Neill to explain."

The Kelownan looked puzzled, "I didn't know Colonel O'Neill was a banana connoisseur?"

Sarah let out a snort of laughter causing Jonas to look even more perplexed.

---------------

Daniel heard Sarah laugh. He stopped at the doorway without letting his presence be known, an uneasy feeling crawling up his body. He frowned, resentfully, his gazed frozen, watching, observing the delicate body language between the two. He sensed his reason falling down the inner ravines of his soul, landing in a deep pit of emotion. And that emotion swam towards the surface like a shark hungry for blood, bearing its jealous teeth with an envious snarl. Something whispered around him, stretching from within, fuelling the resentment, laughing at him like a cuckold, peppering his eyes and salting his wounds. He tried to stop it, to grab its green tail but he was too far down, he had no control over this unforgiving rage.

--------------

Sarah looked up and smiled as Daniel marched into the room. She went to greet him but stopped when she saw the raw emotion carved cruelly on his face. Jonas looked up too, sensing something in the Egyptologist intrusive manner, something inhuman entwining itself around Jackson and cocooning his being.

The young alien stood up, grating the metal chair against the solid floor. Daniel twisted his mouth into a sneer, the intensity of his animosity burning like a bright scarlet flare in Jonas's cordial mind, making the Kelownan back away.

"Daniel?" Sarah's concern fluctuating in her voice as the Egyptologist pushed her away to get to the alien; his touch was cold.

"It's, it's not Doctor Jackson," the Kelownan stuttered, realising too late that the man before them was not in control of his actions.

Daniel lashed out with a hostile fist, fuelled by a magma of bitter hatred, catching Jonas on the side of the face; the young alien fell to the floor. The Egyptologist quickly hoisted the felled man by his shirt and thrust him against the wall with a strength that was far beyond him.

Jonas looked into Jackson's detached eyes sensing an intimacy just outside of his reach. He tried to use his ability to contact Daniel, to impede the entity that was occupying the Doctor's body but the being was too strong and the resentment too fierce. Pain blinded the alien's efforts like savage claws grating through his brain, severing the connection. Jackson's lips curled into sneer as he brought his head down onto the Kelownan brow, the force of which sent the young man back down to the floor and broke the Doctor's glasses.

Jonas felt Daniel lift him to his feet again and shove him against the wall as if he weighed nothing. Sarah tried to intervene, catching Jackson's arm. The Egyptologist gave her an irate stare which turned to pitch before throwing her to the floor, turning his attention back to the Kelownan, balling his hand into a fist once more.

Jonas closed his eyes, sensing a break in the being's focus. He mentally jumped the hair's breath between them, using the eye to touch the silent void that was hidden deep within Daniel. He stroked its membrane and it sparked under his caress, revealing a glint of essence that was so familiar. He opened his eyes, "Cassie," he declared in a pained whisper.

The word reverberated around the room like peal of church bells calling to the faithful and unfurling the Doctor's clenched fist. Sarah looked on in astonishment as Daniel laughed and pressed his lips against the alien's with all the passion of a lover. Jonas remained unyielding to the probing kiss, his senses tasting nothing but corruption and the oblivion that eclipsed Cassandra's soul. The Doctor's lips left a delicate layer of ice crystals on the young man's mouth.

"Have you missed me?" Cassandra's taunting words paled in the air like a frosty morning.

Jonas kept his silence but the tempo of his heart wavered with the question. Daniel touched a broad cut above Jonas's right eye, dipping his fingers in the alien's blood. "What no 'hello' for the girl who took your breath away?" She blew softly on his cheek with frigid breath.

The Egyptologist head titled and he dragged a bloody fingertip down the Kelownan's left cheek, leaving a mark. "You are not her," Jonas replied, his voice firmer than he felt.

The alien thought he sensed another soul giggle but his mind was blurred and the other fell mute as if sapped of energy.

Jackson moved closer to the young man's ear, "no, I am much more than I was," Cassandra whispered, letting the host's tongue linger on the alien's lobe.

The young man moved away and looked straight at her through Daniel's gaze, seeing the coldness that also resided in her heart. "No," he said without hesitation, "you are less."

Jackson grabbed the alien's face with a strong hand, pushing his fingertips viciously into his cheeks. He drew back his fist again only to have it immobilized by Teal'c's strong grip.

Daniel gritted his teeth, "my Lord will have your soul again Jonas," Cassandra spat before the host collapsed back into the Jaffa.

Cassandra fell back into Morgan landing heavily on the floor. She looked down at the exhausted young man and smiled. She stretched her hand over his feeble body using her mind to fuse his own into a deep and restful sleep. She then walked back to the device to check its power and smiled, she had not finished with Jonas.

------------------------


	11. Cassandra

I pledge allegiance to the underworld  
one nation under dog  
there of which I stand alone  
a face in the crowd  
unsung, against the mould  
without a doubt,  
singled out  
the only way I know - Minority Green Day

The banana scene in the last chapter was dedicated to all the OJBs out there.

Thanks again for the reviews guys – hope you like the next bit.

Extract in text from **Leviathan**

**

* * *

**

Jonas stroked the stitches in his forehead, his gaze resting on the desk in front of him. Sam reached across and gripped the young man's hand. "Are you sure about this Jonas?" She asked.

He nodded a reply, without looking up. "It was her Sam," he said quietly.

Colonel O'Neill glanced though the open doorway and tapped his watch, "hey, you two, briefing room, now."

Sam gathered her notes together and looked across at the alien who remained sitting. "Jonas?"

The Kelownan shook his head and stood up giving the Major a cheerless smile; they joined O'Neill in the corridor.

Jack placed his hands in his pockets. "So what is it about Daniel that makes him a vacation hotspot for rogue entities?" It was said lightly but no one smiled.

Sam shot O'Neill an anxious look, gesturing towards Jonas with a slight nod of her head. Jack knew better than to mouth his well practiced, 'what?'

A loud sneeze rocked the corridor from behind them, making them turn to investigate. Nurse Stoughton gave an embarrassed and apologetic smile from behind a man-sized tissue, "summer cold," she acknowledged, quickly giving her nose a deafening blow.

Jack grimaced and ushered Jonas and Sam into the briefing room, taking their customary places across from Teal'c and General Hammond.

"How are you feeling Mr Quinn?" The General enquired looking down the table at the young man.

"A slight headache, Sir," Jonas conceded, scratching the back of his neck.

"That could still be from the alcohol," Jack injected, drawing a slight smile from the Kelownan.

"How's Daniel, Sir?" Sam asked, looking to Hammond.

"He's under observation for the time being but shows no signs of any physical or mental damage. I afraid he doesn't remember the altercation with Jonas or who or what possessed him."

Sam turned her gaze to the Kelownan, "Jonas?"

The alien sighed but did not respond. General Hammond frowned, "Mr Quinn do you have any idea what attacked you?" It was more than a question.

Jonas looked at Sam, pushing the pen, he had been holding, across the desk in front of him, focusing on it. "It was Cassandra," he said clearly.

"What?" Jack lent forward, towards the Kelownan, in a doubtful manner.

"Jonas thinks it was Cassandra," Carter reiterated, her worried eyes holding the Colonel's gaze.

O'Neill looked from his 2IC to the young alien. "As in, 'I'm dead but ascended' Cassandra Fraiser?"

Jonas stared at him, "yes." Again the acknowledgement was definite; he even nodded his head.

"How is that possible?" Teal'c posed.

"I don't know," the Kelownan shrugged, "but I sensed her and, and another in Daniel, maybe_ he_ brought her back."

"She took a friend? What was this like some weird possession party?"

General Hammond held up his hand, "Jack." O'Neill sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. The General continued, "Jonas if it was Cassandra, then why would she attack you?"

The alien ran his finger over the stitches, "she's not the same." He looked around the table, "she, she has let the darkness inside consume her," it was almost said as if he was trying to justify her actions.

The statement hung in the air. "As in 'crossed to the dark side'?" O'Neill's eyebrows rose.

Sam grimaced but Jonas answered with an audible, "yes." He fiddled with his ring for a moment and then looked up. "She's much stronger than she ever was."

"Now that is bad news," Jack reflected, letting out a sigh.

"We believe that Cassandra used the same device to inhabit Daniel, which Anubis and Ragnarok used when they possessed her," Sam explained.

"The ancient device," Teal'c stated; the Major nodded.

"It's just speculation," Carter continued, "but we think its real function is as a medical tool."

"How so?" Hammond asked.

"That the Ancients used it so their consciousness could inhabit a patient's body to enable them to accurately diagnose and treat an illness." Sam looked around the table, "if you remember, Cassandra was just getting over glandular fever when Ragnorak and Anubis occupied her."

Teal'c nodded, "and Daniel Jackson has had a cold for several days."

"Making it easy for someone of Cassandra's abilities to enter in Daniel's consciousness," Jonas added.

"And Daniel was not aware of her _sharing_ his space?" Jack asked, leaning forward on his arms.

The Kelownan shook his head, "I think she must have been observing without taking control of Doctor Jackson. We would have noticed, before now, if she had."

"We?" Jack clarified.

"Yes Colonel," Jonas sounded tired, he chewed his lip, searching their faces and rubbing his forehead.

"Jonas?" Sam voiced some alarm.

"Sorry, I just don't know how to put this."

"Take your time son," the General coaxed.

"Cassandra's only a half being."

There was silence, again he looked at their expectant faces, "…she is only partly alive."

O'Neill shook his head, "nope sorry Jonas…"

"Cassie made a pact to return, a dark pact which only allowed that side of herself to be reborn. The good in her, the, the light, was left behind; it's…, it's still 'dead' for want of a better word. That's why when she possessed Daniel he was cold to the touch and there was a chill in the air…"

"So we all would have noticed if he had been taken over before," Sam nodded her head as she spoke.

"Right," Jack confirmed clicking his fingers; the table looked at him.

"So the remaining question is what was she observing?" Hammond demanded.

They were silent for a moment, Carter spoke up. "We think it could be the frescoes."

"From P5S119?" The Jaffa submitted.

"Yes," Jonas responded, "after analysing their content, we believe that there could be an Atlantis connection in their translation."

"But you haven't found it yet?" Jack stated.

"No sir," Jonas shook his head, "but Doctor Jackson was going back to the planet to look over the ruins for himself."

"Surely it would have been more prudent for Cassandra to wait until after Daniel Jackson's return before exposing herself," the Jaffa proposed.

"Not if she wanted to stop us from extracting their true meaning, Teal'c," Sam countered. "Both Jonas and Daniel have been working on them…"

"So the little minx inhabited one to take out the other," Jack surmised.

"It would seem so Sir," Carter replied.

"Mr Quinn," Hammond addressed the young man who was busy with his own thoughts, "you said you felt another presence in Doctor Jackson's body?"

The Kelownan looked up, "it was very weak, General, but it was familiar to me." He rubbed his temple, squinting his eyes, "it was like a vague memory, one you sometimes get with a smell or a tune. It, it felt Kelownan."

"Strange how all paths lead back to Ba'al," O'Neill announced.

"It would make sense, Sir," Carter voiced, "we know Ba'al lead both us and Osiris to Anubis' stronghold, therefore it would be rational to assume that he would have stripped the base of any advanced technology that would help him in his conquest. Like the 'medical' device," she added in clarification.

"Oh I never assume Carter," replied Jack with raised eyebrows, looking towards the Kelownan; he was sure Jonas was not telling them everything.

Jonas seemed to be at the fringe of their conversation. He tried to concentrate but their words seemed to float passed like cobwebs on the wind. He watched Sam's mouth move but all he heard was the breeze ruffling the tall pine trees. Colonel O'Neill said something but all that Jonas heard was the agitated sound of a wood pigeon's wings trying to gain flight. He looked towards Teal'c but the Jaffa diminished into the waters of a lake. The meeting disappeared.

He felt the warm rays of a fat and compliant sun affectionately stroke his back, while around him the landscape basked. He turned round in a full circle, a man in a daze, deju vu shattering his thoughts.

"We were happy here." Jonas looked towards the gentle voice; Cassandra was led on a woollen blanket gazing at the sky, her one hand rolling a lollypop in her mouth.

She turned onto her side and rested her head on the flat of her hand, "this was our chocolate box moment."

"How…?"

She smiled, catlike, "I'm in your mind Jonas, we still have that connection." She took the sweet from her mouth and patted a space beside her; Jonas declined.

"Can you feel it; can you still feel how much I love you?" She had disappeared from the blanket and was stood behind him, lips close to his ear.

Jonas felt her dominance fill his mind, "I only feel your hate," he whispered, staring straight ahead.

"Love, hate they're all the same just as life and death," she crossed her arms around his neck, laying her head on its nape.

"They say you never forget your first, Jonas, and I haven't; even in death. It was me who saved you back on Kelownan, I told Sam to open the Iris to let you through; doesn't that deserve a kiss, at least?"

The young man turned his head away, Cassandra laughed. "For some reason I still want you, Jonas, even now. Maybe it's the goodness in you that I'm drawn to just as you're drawn to the darkness in me." She began to press her lips to his skin, letting her breath crawl down his back.

"Don't flatter yourself," he turned back to her and pushed her away with his mind.

Cassandra laughed, as she gracefully spun on his energy, landing with a flourish onto her feet. "I see you've grown some claws," she circled him, putting the lolly back in her mouth, "I like that, I like that a lot. I will enjoy the struggle for your soul."

"You'll not win," Jonas said clearly, shielding himself from her mental advances.

"We shall see." She threw the sweet away, "you owe me, Kelownan was not the first time I have saved you," she put her hands behind her back and disappeared.

The scene moved around Jonas in a tornado of confusion. He found himself observing the aftermath of his battle with darkness that had inhabited Ragnarok's body, when he lay dying in Bra'tac's arms with SG1 and Cassandra around him.

"_The sky's above me, the grass is so sweet, this journey's circle, is not yet complete," the tender words flutter in the silence but they did not fly from Major Carter's lips. _

_A new shadow fell over the Kelownan and Jack turned his head to gaze upon the fragile, ivory, beauty of a woman. Her mystical sea-green eyes smiled warmly at the group and her blue robes sailed in the zephyr that was splaying her richly curled hair like a white-blonde halo._

_Cassie stood up and looked at the virtuous woman who seemed to flow before her, like a reflection on a pond. She held out her hand warily and the woman took it in her own as an understanding passed between them without uttering a single phrase. _

The memory paused leaving everyone still like wax dummies in a Tableaux. Cassie let go of Mia's hand and turned to him her eyes dark and hollow, "I gave my life for you Jonas Quinn," she pouted.

Jonas frowned and Cassie smiled, "you didn't know, did you?" She giggled like a child and walked towards him, her voice becoming more and more menacing, "I gave up what little time I had in this dull universe to save you, to give you life."

The truth of her words pieced his heart. "Yes, that's right, Jonas," she said cruelly, "you would have died **here** if it were not for me."

Jonas ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think as Cassandra walked through the barricades of his mind. He turned his back on the scene, his breathing anxious.

"Everyone dies apart from you Jonas," Cassandra baited. "You leave a pathway of death as you go through life. You are truly blessed."

The Kelownan found the strength to thwart her efforts, fuelled by the agony of loss. He turned to her, holding her meaningless gaze, "Cassie may have given her life for me and that is something my heart will have to redress but you didn't." His voice bristled in the stillness, "you are not her, you are some empty creature born of bitterness and hate with nothing but a dark void for a soul."

She flew at him like a banshee, a storm whipping round on the vortex of her words. "I was a love sick child then," venom spat from her barren heart, "I didn't know what I was giving up but now I know life and death and I want to live, Jonas Quinn. The impiety of the universe, that profane and hardened pitch, which hides in the waywardness of all creatures' souls, has given me this chance and I grabbed it and let it devour me."

"Then there is nothing left in you of the girl I once love," he parried.

Lightening baptised the sky, hitting the ground by Jonas' feet making him back away and shield his face. He fell to the ground and found himself back on the blanket with Cassandra sitting astride his body. She stroked his face with her fingertips; her touch was cold, "maybe I can change that?"

She laughed, shifting her weight pushing her knees into his sides. She bent over him and kissed his cheek, moving down to his mouth.

Jonas felt the iniquity of her lips as they pressed against his in a brutal kiss. He tried to move away, on his elbows, but Cassandra would not let him free.

She lifted up his t-shirt and traced the fine scars that her master had scorched upon his body, "do you still remember the pain, the suffering that this torment brought you?" She looked into his eyes, the answer was evident.

She smiled without emotion. "Let me purge the righteousness from your soul, Jonas," she bent her body over his, biting into his bottom lip, "let us join our bodies and you can feel what it's like to be free, without conscience. I will make it painless, my love, and pleasurable."

"No," he screamed, feeling her burrow under his skin, maiming his soul with her barbarous touch, molesting his heart with each blackened kiss.

He pushed her away with all his being, sensing their connection snap like a rubber band in his mind, stinging his head with pain.

She laughed with the coldness of death, "I see that someone else has left an imprint on your soul," she got to her feet, "looks like I have a rival."

She smiled ruthlessly as she faded from his thoughts leaving a gash of sorrow through his heart.

"Jonas, Jonas," Sam screamed his name, causing him to open his eyes.

He looked up at the concerned faces of SG1 from the briefing room floor. He wiped the blood from his nose and tried to stand but several pairs of hands held him down.

"Hang on there, Junior, we've just called for the Doc," Colonel O'Neill's voice slapped him from his confusion.

He took a deep breath, grabbing Sam's arm, "Izzie," he cried with urgency.

* * *

Can Jonas save Izzie……. 


	12. All The Enchantments Of Spring Or Autumn

**_All The Enchantments Of Spring Or Autumn_**

I shall paint you in your own colours – proverbs

Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures. _Henry Ward Beecher_

Thanks for all the feedback

I'd like to dedicate this chappy to CT and romanse for all their help and guidance.

* * *

The stag angled its head in the muted glow of the sun, majestic against a forest softened by daybreak. It seemed ethereal in contrast to the rippling mist that skimmed the ground, blanching all apart from the imposing beast. It stood out in the sea of the morning, statuesque in its pose it looked so real. Izzie placed her palette down to looked at the dreamlike animal she had painted in a vision of colour and life. She traced her fingertips along the raven fletched arrow that impaled the stag's vulnerable heart. It was as if she could feel its anguish, its suffering, its torment, as if the tip had pierced her own. She snapped out of the daze and withdrew her hand, looking down at the dewy blend of colours that coated her fingers; Black, Madder Lake Deep and Crimson Lake; blood, his blood.

_His blood?_ Something was wrong.

She stepped away from the finished painting, balling her fingers into her palm, digging her nails into its flesh. Something was out there; she sensed it, calling to her in the static in the air, using a thousand voices of lost generations.

_Jonas. _The name bled into her mind; a blessing and a curse.

She inhaled, trusting her intuition, breaking through the thin layer of the dimensions to listen to the blister that was erupting under their skin.

Izzie looked to the picture again, letting the image speak to her. She tilted her head, breathing each brushstroke, perceiving each colour and shadow, touching the light with her mind as if she stood beyond the canvass, inside the painting. She reached out and was rewarded; noticing the conspicuous burly, green, plant on the left-hand side of the portrait. Her eyes followed the path of its branches, the prayer of its up-stretched leaves and the copiousness of its ruddy, round, fruit.

"Arbutus Unede," she exclaimed, remembering her Grandmother's voice as she instructed her in the ancient magic held by all nature's plants. This was her sign.

She left the canvass and headed for the kitchen turning around in the open workspace in thought. She knelt down in front of the cupboard under the sink and pulled at its uneven door. An assortment of forgotten cleaning products spilled onto the floor as she delved into the confined space, dragging a glass bottle from the back. She stood up, wiping the dust and paint off her hands down the leg of her cut-off jeans.

Izzie held the, aged, green bottle in front of her, shaking it slightly to check the contents while turning it over in her grasp. She touched the yellowed handwritten label that bared her grandmother's signature, smiling in memory. Izzie looked back to the painting, "what are you trying to tell me Babi?" She spoke out loud as if the old woman would answer her.

Izzie placed the bottle on the counter top and pulled the crumbling cork, wondering if it was still safe to drink. She sniffed its contents and raised her eyebrows at its pungent smell, giving a half smile. She tapped the opened top with her fingertip and screwed her face in thought as the phone rang.

Cassandra stood outside Izzie's door, hearing the loud bell of the Bakelite phone, she smiled; Jonas was so predictable.

Izzie picked up the heavy, red, receiver, "hello," she spoke with unease into the curved mouthpiece; there was no reply.

She composed herself and spoke again, toying with the braided cord as if it was a rosary, "hello?" She posed for the second time hearing a faint murmur that fizzed and then abruptly died.

She touched her forehead, a feeling of expectancy bristling against her skin as she replaced the vintage phone. It gave a melancholic and soulful ring as it was coupled, increasing her anxiety.

Cassandra smiled at the ease she had been able to block out Jonas' frantic call and let her focus return to the host. She knocked on the door and licked the bloodless lips of the woman she now inhabited.

Something blinked in Izzie's mind, a warning, a falsehood, a pretext. The rapid thump of the wood sounded again, its eager beat resounding through the apartment with dubious exhilaration. Izzie walked towards the door stretching her fingertips towards its galvanized handle. Her mind flinched and she stepped away.

The door seemed to groan against its frame, bowing in its duty to stay shut. Izzie retreated further away and watched in horror as an infestation of dark mites spread across the timber in a feeding frenzy until the wood had disintegrated.

"Sorry, got tired of waiting." Cassandra said coolly and walked into the room; the air began to freeze.

Izzie looked at the wiry redhead but her gift allowed her to see the woman beyond the hospital uniform and the plain and ordinary face. It was as if she was looking at an old Victorian photograph, where the subject had moved, blurring the image. The nurse in front of her had a hazy layer veiling her body, another soul overlapping in a grey vapour of being. This soul, she perceived, existed between life and death, its heart beat only as a reminder to the blood congealed in its veins, its breath was a spectre that haunted its corpse; it was a cadaver with a talent for living.

Cassandra stalked towards Izzie, a pleasant smile tainting the host's lips as she sensed the tepid intrusion of artist's ability. "Well, well," she mocked, "Jonas has found someone with sight, how quaint." Her breath billowed in the air.

She raised Stoughton's eyebrow, "well, I bet you didn't see this coming."

Cassandra shot an orb of black energy from the host's hand directly at the artist. The cluster tumbled through the air, seething and spitting with poisonous bile.

Izzie watched death spew towards her in a hypnotic pitch that rendering her immobile. She swallowed, terror stalking her every breath, waiting for the inevitable in the seconds that dripped like wax from a candle. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for the pain that the sphere's touch would bring, her mind spiralling in climatic thoughts.

She placed a hand instinctively to her necklace, a dying prayer grazing her lips. The ancient stones blossomed with light, casting a protective lustre around Izzie, defusing the black orb in the magic of their brilliance.

Izzie opened her eyes, a little surprised, "guess again," she said with more resolve than she felt, releasing the breath she had been holding.

The other woman marvelled at being thwarted and laughed with menace. "Well then, I guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way. Paper, rock, scissors, ah knife."

Izzie felt connecting images flicker in her mind as she grasped for answers. She delved deeper in the murky aspects between worlds sensing clearly, for a fleeting moment, the young woman beneath the nurse before her. _'Cassie_', came the whispered echo in clarification.

Izzie's mind was so focused that she did not notice the butcher's knife spiral off the kitchen counter top. She turned, a moment too late, as it sliced into her arm before falling by the host's feet. "Guess my aim's a bit off," Cassandra scolded herself, crinkling up her nose.

She bent down to pick up the weapon. "Looks like I'm going to have to get my hands dirty after all," she pouted, running Stoughton's index finger over the blade, "but then, that sends a much more personal message, don't ya think? And where Jonas is concerned, I like to get up close and personal." She giggled with all the innocence of a school girl.

--------------------------

Jonas felt it, as the knife scored Izzie's arm. His hand went to his own in an attempt to squeeze the pain away.

Jack looked across at the alien from the driver's seat, "Jonas?" He enquired.

"Cassie," he replied in a hoarse whisper, "she's there, she's found Izzie."

O'Neill hit the accelerator.

-----------------

Izzie watched the host's face twist into something savage and unrelenting; her eyes darkened, becoming unhallowed orbs in their quest for blood.

"Did he tell you about me?" Cassie asked as she moved towards the other woman.

"Only that you were, are dead," Izzie corrected herself, moving back while trying to stem the blood flow from her wound.

"Hmm, well that's been slightly exaggerated," Cassandra rolled her eyes and looked down at Stoughton's hands. "You know these hands seem wasted on a nurse. Look how large they are," she held one up for Izzie and turned it. "I'm sure one would circle your scrawny little neck no probs. Shall we see?"

"Why don't you put the knife down first?" The artist challenged, compellingly.

Cassandra laughed, moving closer. "Nah, I'll keep hold of it, for now," she idly turned the point on Nurse's fingertip, "but I think I'll make use of these hands."

She smiled at Izzie, "after I've stabbed you a couple of times, I'm gonna squeeze the life out of your body." She walked forward, keeping pace with the retreating artist.

"I think that should send Jonas the right message," she added, venomously.

"Ever thought of sending an e-card?" Izzie stammered, backing into the kitchen area, her gaze never leaving the zombie like progress of the possessed nurse.

Cassandra sneered, feeding off the young woman's fear, anticipating the anguish her death would cause Jonas.

Izzie's hand brushed against the bottle she had found earlier; she smiled. Without hesitation she picked up the wine, throwing its contents at the advancing Stoughton; she prayed that it didn't have to be consumed to work.

The liquid ran down the host's face stopping Cassandra in her tracks. She began to laugh, wiping her hand over the host's face. She looked up at Izzie with dull black eyes, sucking the liquor from her fingers, "vinegar?" She enquired, pulling a face.

Izzie swallowed, "it's a wine made from the Strawberry Tree," she explained.

Cassandra's eyebrow cocked in ridicule, "really? So that's all you've got, sour wine. Oh Izzie, I expected more of a fight from someone as 'gifted' as you." She gripped the knife tighter and brought it to shoulder height ready to lunge.

She looked towards the artist and then stopped as her movement stiffened. She inhaled deeply, struggling to remain focused as the room began to blur and fragment. She willed the knife to strike into Izzie's chest but her influence over the host waned; dropping the knife.

Izzie watched and smiled, "I might've forgot to mention that Arbutus Unede has been used throughout the centuries to chase away evil, oh and perform exorcisms."

The host swayed and then fell against the kitchen counter for support. Cassandra held on, trying to stay connected to Stoughton. She shook her head in rage, "no, this, this, can't be happening, I'm too powerful," she cried in frustration, fixing Izzie with a blackened stare as she began to slip back to her own body.

"Not powerful enough, apparently," the artist confronted, sensing the other woman's hold diminish. "This is ancient magic, bitch, woven into nature before the darkness had turned its first soul or stolen its first heart."

She bent down and picked up the knife, before looking apologetically at the host. "I'm really, really sorry about this."

Izzie fisted her hand and let it fly into nurse's face; the host collapsed onto the tiled floor.

"Sorry," she whispered again, over the fallen woman.

"Now that's one hell of a left hook."

The artist looked up to see Colonel O'Neill and Jonas standing in the broken doorway. She picked up the empty bottle, tipping it from side to side. "Ah, the cavalry, welcome to the party guys. I'm sorry, but I'm all out of the good stuff," she said with a contented smile.

* * *

Let me know what you think – I re-wrote this chapter several times – does it show?

Thanks


	13. Cat Gut and Whalebone

**Cat Gut and Whalebone**

**Chapter 13**

Here's the next bit….

_Jonas shut his eyes tight and placed both hands on the crystal hilt moving the blade up between the side of his body and his arm. He then rose to his feet and stepped back, giving his body over to the sword so it could fulfil its destiny. With a thrust of his arms the blade connected with Ragnarok, penetrating his torso with a satisfying crack of bone as it channelled its way through._

_The Sword Of Nifhelm forged again with the brilliance of lightening sparking from its hilt along the blade into the impaled body of the host. Ragnarok's carcass danced as the flickering light surged through him, illumining the frozen cry from his mouth and purging the darkness with the purity of the elements. **Extract from Leviathan**_

-----------------------

Jonas walked over to Izzie, "you're hurt," he acknowledged, touching her arm, looking towards the Colonel.

"The medics are right behind us," he gestured with his thumb, "we sorta lost them when we ran that red back there."

"My heroes," Izzie acknowledge a little groggily, perching on a paint splashed stool.

Jonas picked up a towel draped over a dog-eared sofa, while O'Neill knelt down beside Stoughton. "She's out cold," he commented, checking the nurse's faint pulse, "and I mean cold, her skin's like ice."

"That'll be a side effect from Cassandra, sir," the Kelownan answered, "Daniel was the same."

"There's a quilted throw on the window seat," the artist gestured with her good arm.

Jack got up from the floor; his knee cracked with the movement and retrieved the frowzy looking cover. The alien watched his CO as he applied the towel to Izzie's arm, "you don't look so good yourself," she added, getting his attention and raising a curious eyebrow at the Kelownan's injuries.

Jonas smiled, "yeah, I had a run in…"

"With your ex, 'dead', girlfriend by any chance?" Izzie finished. "You know, I thought I had the handle on weird ex's, especially as my last boyfriend slept in a coffin… "

"Now, why doesn't that surprise me," O'Neill interrupted, placing the cover on the unconscious form of the nurse.

Izzie grinned at him, "but you, Jonas, I'd say you win, hands down." She cried out as Jonas tenderly inspected the gash. "Boy, I could do with a drink."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jonas admonished.

Izzie sighed, "Okay Reverend Mother, I was thinking of a coffee," she gave him a charming smile.

"Really?" The young man asked sceptically.

Jack smirked watching as a fretful Jonas got to his feet and walked towards the window, "they should be here by now."

"They will be, Junior, give them a minute or two," the older man answered.

"Junior?" Izzie observed.

"It's a long story," Jack began.

The artist motioned towards the window, "they could be lost, we may have a long wait, don't you military types keep an injured person conscious by recounting tales of past exploits and daring dos."

"You look fully alert to me," the Colonel replied.

"Well you can never tell, I could go into shock any time now," she gave O'Neill a stricken smile.

"Maybe I should go down to the street and see….." The Kelownan started, heading towards the door just as the medical team pulled up outside.

"See" O'Neill reproached, "why don't you just sit tight and let the medics do their thing _and_ while they sew Miss De Wilde.."

"Izzie," the artist interrupted.

"_Izzie's," _Jack continued, "arm back together with cat gut and a whale bone you can let _me_ know how she knew all about Cassandra." He leant against the wall with his shoulder and waited.

They both looked at him, startled; O'Neill lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

Jonas looked at his CO and swallowed, "she, Izzie," he clarified, "has a 'gift' Sir," he spoke slowly, his eyes searching O'Neill face for some sort of understanding; the Colonel's expression was blank.

Jack gave an exasperated sigh, "a 'gift'?" He rolled his eyes, "here we go again," he muttered under his breath.

The medical team hurried by him into the room, nodding at both the Colonel and Jonas. "You know, let's save it for the debrief." Jack injected, with a half hearted smile.

"The debrief?" Izzie asked, looking to the older man.

"Yeah, back at the base," O'Neill continued straightening himself up.

She looked towards Jonas excitedly, "does that mean I'll get to see the Star…" She trailed off, turning her attention back to O'Neill, "the stars over the mountain," she corrected, offering him a small smile.

Jonas winced; Jack stood behind him and spoke softly into his ear, "you think Cassandra gave you a headache? Wait 'till we get back to the base."

* * *

Cassandra fell back on the floor, her body shuddering as her mind relinquished its hold on the host. She pulled herself up using the table which held the device. Small beads of blood fell from her nose onto the loose shift she was wearing, a patterned rebuke against the white of the material.

She staggered towards the bed, passing the forlorn body of Morgan who was tightly curled in his sleep. His silky lips moved in the caress of a fervent nightmare that fettered him to its cruel and haunting voyage. She looked down on him, sensing the terror of the festering memory that was feeding on his conscience, rotting his already decaying soul. She smiled and sat on the bed, her head a dismal carnival of colours and noise.

She felt a rage encircle her soul, burning her with oppressive flames that twitched in a fury of sparks on her skin. She reached out and grabbed a pillow biting into its malleable stuffing in an effort to vent her wrath.

The room around her grew still as the shadows encroached closer to her position. Cassandra looked into their gloom feeling the imperious stare of evil fall on her despair.

"I failed you," she spoke to a silhouette that grew from the ebony of the chamber.

"You have only failed yourself," came the mute reply.

She threw the pillow back onto the bed and stood up, "that bitch, how was I to know she was practiced in the old arts."

"The girl is of no consequence to me, as will you be if you take it upon yourself to act alone again. Be careful that _your_ desires do not hinder my plans; your jealousy could have cost **me**," the dusky form answered, its sordid breath tainting the air.

"My only desire is to live again as you have promised," Cassandra's sullen voice stretched against the gloom.

"And I will honour my pact as long as you serve me and not your emotions. Remember, only through me can your soul become whole." The words were said with sweetened menace.

"And only with my help will you regain Jonas Quinn's soul." She smiled, "unless you believe you can defeat him on your own. Oh, but I forgot, you've tried that once already _and failed_."

The silhouette scowled with eyes that danced with ash and flame. It moved towards the young woman and let out a deep harrowing laugh that echoed with the smothered cries of those it held. "Ah Cassandra such hostile barbs from such sweet lips."

A spectral hand twisted from the pall and touched her face; the young woman did not flinch. The darkness capitulated, "I know I have chosen well, in you" it began, touching her body, "for you and Quinn are both entwined upon the faithless shifts of the universe, you are his destruction," it paused, fondling the shafts of her hair, "as he is yours."

"Then I must make sure that his soul is damned, so I might live." Cassandra smiled, drawing off the emissions from the darkness.

The shadow snaked around her and rippled over to Morgan. "Patience, child, Quinn only has to descend to my realm for you to exist in this one and I need this boy to have his revenge, for it suits my plans well for him and his master to have their use of Jonas Quinn."

Morgan shuddered as the darkness blew gently on his skin, "but we must be vigilant, for I am not the only force at work here."

It rose up and blended back into the corners of the room. "Be careful of the light, sweet Cassandra, for it works against us."

-------------------------------


	14. I'm Sorry

There's a hurting thing inside  
And I've got everything to hide.  
You're breathing. – I Saved the World Today Eurythmics

* * *

Sarah smiled at the guard who stood by Daniel's cot in the infirmary; the morose MP gave her a nod of recognition. She walked across to the Egyptologist who was reading in the bright glow from triangular light of the overhead lamp. 

"Hey," she said softly, sitting in a vacant chair, air escaping from a split in the vinyl with a mellow swoosh.

Daniel turned the book over onto his lap, keeping it open on the page he was reading and shifted slightly against the pillows so he could see her better.

"Sarah," he acknowledge with a guarded smile, his face twisting slightly with embarrassment.

"How're you feeling?" She enquired, leaning across to help bolster the thin pillows.

The MP gave an insistent cough, causing her to lean back against the deflated chair. The young man nodded his agreement and she gave him an apologetic smile.

Jackson sighed, "like I've been run over by a freight train," he answered with a helpless shrug, looking back down at the book.

They were silent for a moment both listening to the steady beep of a heart monitor from the adjoining room.

Sarah gave the guard a circumspect glance before tapping her finger lightly on the novel, "The Maltese Falcon?" She posed, trying to find a thread of conversation away from his obvious discomfort.

"Yeah, I, I never got round to reading it, Doctor Jordon gave me this copy – first edition he explained turning it over in his grasp.

She smiled, "I had a rather dog-eared copy of _The Stand_, in German. The Doctor thought it would help me with the language."

"Oh," he replied, stroking the opened book with his finger tip, his eyes focusing beyond the written word. "Sarah, I'm sorry," he whispered turning to look at her.

"For what Daniel?"

"When… when, I saw you and Jonas together I, I guess, it upset me, you know, how, close you were," he continued.

Sarah frowned. Daniel shut the book, hugging it to his chest. "To be honest, I… I did feel a little jealous." He gave a rueful smile.

"Enough to knock Jonas almost senseless?" The Englishwoman questioned, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

"Um, no, no, of course not," his voice was ridden with guilt, "but I was the catalyst."

Sarah reached across and placed a hand on his arm. "If it hadn't of been you, Daniel, it would have been someone else, Jonas explained everything to me; it was Cassandra's emotions you were feeling."

Daniel shook his head, "no, not at first," he whispered, looking down to the book again.

Sarah smiled and squeezed his arm, "jealous eh? How jealous?"

"Well you did say he was kinda cute." Daniel looked up and tilted his head.

"Yes, I did, didn't I?"

Jackson grinned and took her hand in his. The guard coughed his disapproval but they both ignored him.

"Sarah," Daniel began, "we need to talk but not here, okay?"

She nodded and smiled, "how about dinner, one night, away from the mountain, my treat?" Jackson asked, coiling a wisp of her hair around his finger.

"I'd like that Daniel," she replied touching his hand.

* * *

Jonas shook the bottle of aspirin out onto the counter top and took two tablets from the fray. He jiggled them in his hand as he poured a glass of tepid water from the bathroom sink. He let the pills dissolve on his tongue, savouring their bitterness before washing them down with the water.

He went into his bedroom and sat on the bed, kneading the skin around the mark on his palm. He looked at the knotted weave of fused skin that made up the imprint of the eye and closed his fingers around it; why hadn't it warned him? Why hadn't he been able to sense Cassandra's return? The answer was instantaneous, because he was struggling against this gift, because he wanted to be free, he wanted to be 'normal'.

It had taken him a long time to recover after Huitzilopochtli's attack. It wasn't so much the physical injuries, his Goa'uld genes had seen to that, it was the mental anguish that had taken a large bite out of his soul. He still hid behind his exuberant mask, it was, after all, his safety net but the insomnia of his life was catching upon and he had nowhere else to run.

He unfurled his fist and watched as the crude impression shimmered with unfaltering light. He knew that this was just an extension of his ability, that the true 'eye' was within himself. This was just a shield, able to screen the feelings and senses that were out of reach from normal sight. He smiled as he remembered his time with Olmec, when the old man had tried to teach him how to disentangle the complex perceptions he saw so that they didn't overpower him. He'd been a lousy pupil but Olmec had been patient telling him he lacked inner harmony, showing him where to find his balance; he wondered if he could find it now? He had never felt so lost.

Jonas Quinn, who was he? An illusion conjured up by a perverse sleight of hand, a product of an illicit union, a fusion of species, a surplus body with death his constant shadow.

He ran his fingers through his hair, taking a minute to scuff the crown with his nails. He really needed some time; he needed to work out who he was and what he really wanted from his bogus existence. He massaged his neck, looking down at the eye. He knew now was not the time, he had another demon to face but hopefully the universe would lead him in the direction he was seeking; she had never let him down before.

Jonas smiled and closed his eyes, letting his vision soar to a dimension where the senses are one, where thoughts and actions become diaphanous flashes of colour and reason, where life and death blend to weave each soul's tapestry.

He heard the knock on the door long before the wood.

Jonas opened his eyes and inhaled, taking a moment to draw himself back into his body. He went to the door, pulling it open before Izzie had a chance to announce her presence.

The young woman looked startled, her hand positioned ready to knock. She gave a lopsided grin, "hey, you're good," she exclaimed; Jonas smiled, stepping away from the entrance.

"They've given me the room just down the corridor," she gestured with her thumb, "thought I'd stop by." She gave him a warm smile, raising her eyebrows slightly. "So you gonna invite me in? Or we gonna talk out here?" She gave a baby wave to the surveillance camera to the left of their position.

Jonas tilted his head, "Izzie, sorry, I was miles away, come in." He rubbed his temple, moving back from the door, "How, how are you feeling?" He gestured to her bandaged arm.

"Oh, it's painful," she replied, sitting, cross-legged on his bed, "but I'll survive. What about you?" Her husky voice mellowed with concern.

Jonas tensed and Izzie sensed him hesitate; she changed tack, "you get your arse chewed about me knowing _stuff_?"

She felt him loosen up as he flicked the switch on a small, white, kettle and pulled two mugs from a shelve. "Tea?" He asked.

Izzie nodded. Jonas spoke above the turbulent boiling from the miniature device, "Colonel O'Neill gave me the short, loud, lecture on National Security. I've got some rules and regs to go through," he nodded to a couple of thick binders opened on the coffee table, "think he's going to test me on them before I can leave the base again."

Izzie leant forward and picked up one of the heavy folders, "that sucks," she acknowledged, placing it back down again.

"You could say that," Jonas conceded, pouring boiling water into the prepared cups.

He carried them across the room and handed one to Izzie before joining her on the bed. "How's the head?" She asked kindly.

Jonas instinctively rubbed the stitches, "it's been better," he said with a wry smile, cradling his mug.

The artist mirrored his actions, both of them focusing on the whitewashed wall on the other side of the room.

Jonas sighed, his eyes never leaving the wall, "Izzie I'm sorry…"

The young woman placed her mug down on the table, hearing the significant break in his voice, "Jonas, you weren't to blame," she said softly.

He stood up, the springs releasing his weight, "yes, I was. I should never have involved you in…"

"Your life?" She interrupted, her coal-black stare embracing his face, "didn't think you had much of a choice. I mean, I sorta pushed my way into it didn't I?"

She stood up and placed a hand on his arm, "Jonas, don't beat yourself up over this, don't let her get to you, it's what they want."

"You could have been killed," he looked down at her grasp.

"But I wasn't and I think I gave Cassandra a run for her money."

Jonas went to say something but Izzie put her finger to his lips, "no Jonas, this is my choice, don't push me away. I warn you, I'm very headstrong. It's an attribute you'll learn to love."

They stood there for a moment, a perpetual bond weaving a thread through their hearts and souls as they touched; strangers who knew each other too well. Jonas affectionately brushed her hair back, fighting the helix of emotions that coursed through him.

"Don't fight it," Izzie whispered, as the young man laboured with his conscience.

He coiled a tense strand idly around his finger, his heart stumbling in her warmth and sincerity; Izzie smiled, she didn't want to push him. She relaxed back down on the bed. Jonas watched her as she ran her fingers through her tousled, black, mane. She smiled up at him, "guess I'd better finish my drink and get back to my room." She gestured towards the mug.

The Kelownan remained uncommitted, picking up his own drink, deep in thought. Izzie sighed and went to grab her tea when she noticed a book tucked under the alien's pillow. "What's this?" She asked curiously.

She rolled over to reach the novel and looked back at Jonas in amusement, "_Christine."_

She began to read from the cover. "_She was his – a '58 Plymouth Fury. But sometimes ownership can become Possession'_".

Izzie raised her eyebrows, "you know this stuff can give you nightmares?"

The Kelownan smiled at her with ease, "yeah," he said softly, reaching for the bruised paperback, "maybe _someone_ should stay with me while I read it," his fingertips brushed against her hand.

Izzie didn't relinquish her hold on the novel but returned his smile, "yeah, maybe **_I_ **should."


	15. Nightmares

My apple-low-gees for the delay – internet probs and the like.

Hope everybody had a good festive season and a Happy New Year.

-------------------------------------------------------

Do your nightmares tear you apart?  
Do you wake up screaming  
Shouting in the dark  
The demons keep you awake  
Does the clock tick more slowly  
With every breath you take – The Fear, The Levellers

-------------------------------------------------------

Jack entered General Hammond's office and watched for a few moments as the older man signed off some paperwork.

"Sit down, Colonel," the Texan gestured to the vacant seat in front of his desk.

"General," O'Neill responded, pulling at his trouser legs and sitting down.

Hammond rested his arms on the sheets he had just authorized, clasping his hands together. "Sorry to call you back so late," he paused, his pale blue gaze never leaving the other man's, "I'm cancelling your weekend leave."

Jack remained silent and waited, Hammond continued with his directive, "at 05:00 hours, you, Major Carter, Teal'c and Jonas Quinn are to return to P5S119. You will inform your team half an hour before you are due to leave, that way we can hopefully keep a lid on this mission. I have just signed off orders for an offworld recon exercise at the same time so the base will be geared for Gate activation. I will change the destination and order the SG team to stand down so you can take their place. Any questions?"

Jack shifted a little in his chair, "Sir, do you think it's a good idea to take Jonas offworld? If we're to believe that Ba'al has his sights set on Atlantis then it's obvious why he brought Cassandra back…"

"Because she is one of the keys," Hammond answered assuredly, easing back in his chair.

"With Jonas being the other. General let me take Daniel…"

Hammond raised his hand, "Doctor Jackson's to remain on base for the time being." He sighed and rubbed his finger across his forehead, "Jack, I know the risks but this has come from higher up. Jonas's ability could give us an advantage here. We can ill afford for a Goa'uld to get to the Ancient's City first."

O'Neill nodded but he wasn't convinced; Hammond smiled. "You, Teal'c and Major Carter have been given a clean bill of health. Colonel I have to go with the information Mr Quinn managed to siphon from Cassandra when they linked, that the medical device is tuned into the unique signature of our gate…"

"So they can only possess personnel from this base," Jack reiterated with a cynical wave of his hand; this time Hammond waited.

"It could be some ploy Sir," O'Neill stated, with a twitch of his head, "Cassandra could have _planted _that little titbit in Junior's noggin."

The General looked down at his desk and tapped his fingers on the paperwork in front of him. "It's plausible but I have to trust Jonas on this, Jack, he seemed confident."

"Yeah, well, I know Sir but the kid's hardly impartial in all this, maybe his _reading's_ a bit off."

"I'm sorry Jack, my hands are tied. SG1, along with Mr Quinn leaves at 05:00 tomorrow."

* * *

Sarah woke in a desperate panic unsure of her surroundings. She sat upright in her bed, feeling the despair squeeze her heart as she heard the cries of Osiris's victims diminish; this was no nightmare.

She brought her knees up to her chest, tenting the covers and hugged them to her, feeling lost in her own body. She looked down at her quaking hand, at the complex network of veins budding under her skin as her heart swelled. She brought her head down to her knees and let the harrowing tears fall.

A kind arm encircled her shoulders rocking her through her torment. Sarah looked up into sympathetic eyes and a comforting smile, "who..?" She stammered hoarsely.

The benevolent woman removed her embrace and stroked Sarah's tears from her face. "My name is Oma," she replied, her touch quelling the English woman's anguish.

"As in Desala?"

The other woman nodded and smiled, shifting on the bed.

"Why are you here?" Sarah asked. "Am I dying?"

Oma took the younger woman's hand in hers and shook her head, "no," she whispered smoothly, "you are not dying."

"Then?"

The Ascended being looked at Sarah in thoughtful silence preparing her words. She held onto her hand, forging a bond between living and dead, "I'm here to offer you help," she replied calmly.

Sarah released her knees and sat back against the head board. She looked down at their joined hands, "help me?" She enquired, confused.

"Yes Sarah," Oma patted her hand, "I'm here to help you deal with the memories."

Sarah flinched, taking her hand away, "how?" She asked sceptically.

Oma linked her hands together in her lap, "I can give you the space your soul needs to rebalance itself, give you purpose again; give you your life back."

The English woman went to say something but Oma stopped her, "Sarah, before you answer you need to know that this will not be an easy journey for you, it will take time, away from the people you know and love."

"You, you can make the memories stop?"

Oma held her gaze, "I can only promise that you will have the means to deal with them. I can help you find peace."

Sarah clasped her hands together, pressing them to her top lip for support, "what's the catch?" She whispered, not taking her eyes from the end of the bed.

Oma stood up and titled her head kindly, "you will need to come with me. It is your soul that needs to find redress not your body."

Sarah turned towards the other woman, "I am to die?"

"No, your body will remain here awaiting your return."

Sarah hesitated, "Why me? Why help me?"

Oma gave a sorrowful smile and looked down to the floor, "because, in turn, I need your help," she whispered.


	16. Christine

Say my name.  
The sun shines through the rain.  
A whole life so lonely.  
And then you come and ease the pain.  
I don't want to loose this feeling. – Eternal Flame – The Bangles

-------------------------

Jack stopped as he arrived at Jonas' door. He fisted his hand and banged loudly on the hardwood in a rhythmic knock. He waited, hearing a loud thud coming from the room and a husky snigger; Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Is everything alright Jonas?" O'Neill teased. "Should I call a medic?"

Jack heard a sharp intake of breath, "Colonel O'Neill! No, no everything's fine - just fell out of bed," came the muffled reply and more muted laughter.

The Kelownan made a hushing sound and Jack heard him move towards the door to open it.

"Finally," O'Neill commented as a dishevelled Jonas stood before him, rolling his t-shirt down over his boxers.

"Well?" The Colonel remarked crossing his arms.

The young man swallowed, "_well_ what Sir?" He asked in all sincerity.

"Aren't you gonna invite me in?" Jack raised both eyebrows in unison and nodded towards the room.

Jonas visibly paled, "in?" He repeated, mortified.

"Yes, Jonas into your room." Jack was enjoying this too much.

"My room?" The Kelownan's voice stretched as his eyes widened.

"Well, we're not stood outside Carter's, now, are we?"

"No Sir, of course Sir, please," he gestured for the Colonel to enter, his face growing redder.

Jack followed him in, "Miss De Wilde," he acknowledged to the young lady wrapped up in Jonas' bed.

Izzie stretched and rolled sluggishly toward O'Neill, "Colonel," she returned, yawning into her hand.

Jack shot Jonas a taunting glance, "we were just reading Sir," the young man responded, offering Jack the book in evidence.

"All night?" O'Neill asked.

"We, we fell asleep," he gave Izzie a panicked look.

The artist moved onto her back and looked up at the ceiling, "he believes you Jonas," she eased, "don't you Colonel? He's just making you squirm a little," her voice was slightly drowsy adding to its seductiveness.

'Doh, that took all the fun out of it', O'Neill thought looking at the Kelownan's petitioning stare; the problem was, he did believe him.

He held up his hands, "okay, okay but _you_ really should been in your own quarters," he turned his attention to Izzie.

"Right", she gave a mock salute and draping the sheet around her, in a bohemian fashion, got up from the bed. "I'll grab those tomorrow," she said casually, gesturing towards a pile of clothes.

Jack narrowed his eyes as Izzie grazed Jonas' cheek with a kiss on passing. She spoke softly to the young man but her gaze never left O'Neill. "See, he believes us," she said ambiguously.

Jonas smiled and nodded turning to face Jack, "Sir?"

O'Neill waited for Izzie to breeze out of the room. She smiled brazenly as she passed him. "Goodnight Miss De Wilde," Jack acknowledged.

"Yes it was Colonel," she added with a mischievous smile.

When she had closed the door Jack turned to the young man, "get your kit together Jonas, we're heading off-world in twenty minutes."

O'Neill watched the news sink in. "What… Where are we going?" The alien asked in anticipation, his eyes darting around the room making a mental inventory on what he needed.

"You will be told the destination moments before we head through the Gate."

Jonas turned to the older man, "it's P5S119 isn't it?" He said quietly.

Jack remained noncommittal. "Just get your stuff together Junior, you'll find out soon enough."

Jonas nodded and O'Neill turned to leave and then stopped, "Jonas you were just _reading_, right?"

The young man looked at him, undaunted but there was a glint in his eye, "yes Sir," he said a little too readily.

Jack turned to the opened the door a smile tugging at his lips, "it's just your boxers are on back to front."

* * *

Cassandra woke from a restless sleep boiling with memories. She touched the side of her face, her fingers rigid against the frost of her skin as the darkness left its colourless message chalked in her mind.

She swung herself out of the bed and headed to Morgan's chamber.

Morgan was a ghost against his sheets, curled up like a child in the vast bed. Cassandra touched his arm and looked into his eager eyes as they opened. "My Lord," he stuttered before realising it was she who woke him.

Annoyance washed his face, "why have you woken me." He seethed.

"Forgive me," Cassandra batted, "but I bring news of Jonas Quinn."

He looked at her and then to the door anxiously, "can't it wait until morning."

"I'm afraid not," she said seriously, "he is leaving the base."

Morgan sat up again, his eyelid twitching at the corner, "what, now?" He cried out, pushing the sheet from him.

"Yes," she answered.

Morgan tried to smooth the quivering nerve with his fingertip, "and SG1?" He demanded.

Cassandra nodded, "except for Doctor Jackson."

The Kelownan stood rubbing his jaw with his thumb and finger, "yes, yes then my plan worked," he said with delight looking at her.

Cassandra bowed her head in acknowledgement, "I, I knew it would," he indulged, walking over to the cabinet to select a bottle.

Cassandra followed him and laid a hand on his arm, "Morgan you have to act now, they are leaving within the next few minutes."

He narrowed his eyes and removed her hand, "do not think to order me, my sweet," he began, his voice irate.

Cassandra stepped back, "I am not, my dearest brother, I am just trying to counsel you, for fear that you may miss your chance to prove yourself to Ba'al." She looked towards the unopened door. "I know this task means a great deal to you both."

Morgan snorted. "How can I be sure the information you _acquired,_" he raised his eyebrows, "is correct?" He selected a twisted green and blue bottle.

Cassandra walked across to the device and touched it with her hand, "why don't you see for yourself? Join with your host, see if I am telling the truth."

The young man pulled the cork and took sip of the syrupy liquid before joining her. He placed his hand on the dome of the machine and looked at her, his blue eyes glacier. "And what if you're wrong, Cassandra?"

He smiled with malevolence, grabbing her hair and rubbing it through his fingers. "The crystal that runs this device is almost depleted; I may not be able to use it again after this or is that your plan?"

"My plan?" She replied as he fiercely tugged at her hair, "my only plan is to serve you in the destruction of Jonas Quinn."

She tired to turn away from him but he would not release his grip. "I realise you do not trust me in this but can you afford not too? Think what it would mean if you were to fail, how would Lord Ba'al react knowing you could have secured him the other key but did not act?" Cassandra spat like a cornered ally cat.

Morgan pulled her to him, yanking out handfuls of her hair. He smiled down at her, bringing his other hand to circle her small neck. He squeezed her throat harshly, "and if you are wrong, my dear, I will have no need for you."

Cassandra smiled through the pain, "but I am not wrong," she said, placing her hand over his and easing forward to kiss his lips. Morgan released her, wiping her touch from his mouth and turned back to the device.

"We shall see," he concluded, placing his hand on the glass dome.

Cassandra watched as the light engulfed him, "yes, we _shall_ see," she whispered rubbing her neck.


	17. Switch It On

I can see I'm a little unstable  
Mystified, I'm tired and unable  
To switch it on and switch it off daily  
It's ok to, say how you see me  
It's about my time,  
There's no way...  
Please...this isn't working  
And I can't breathe  
Got No air now – Switch It On – Will Young

* * *

Sam watched as Jonas picked through the rubble of the temple wall. He looked up from his haunches and she smiled encouragingly, "perhaps you should take a break, we've been at this for over an hour."

A frustrated frown marked his forehead as he stood up, wiping his hands on his trouser leg. "Hey," Sam said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, "give yourself time."

He looked at her and then at the impression on his palm, shaking his head, "I'm not getting anything Sam."

He turned back towards the frescoes, "I can't _feel_ anything," he rubbed the spikes of his hair. "It's just so, so blank."

He hit the wall in front of him in annoyance, spewing a cloud of dust into the cramped chamber; Sam coughed. "Sorry," Jonas gave her an apologetic smile.

Sam tugged at his sleeve, "let's get some fresh air."

The Kelownan nodded and followed her into the sunlight.

* * *

Jonas sat on one of the gigantic stone steps that led to the entrance of the temple and looked out onto the twist of the jungle that clung to the ruins in varying shades of green. The air hung like the vines around him, embracing his body with its clammy touch, making him wish for the silk of a breeze. He closed his eyes and listened to the restless chorus of numerous creatures whose chanting carried beyond the canopy of overgrown fauna. He shook his head again with disappointment. Perhaps it was too soon; perhaps he had not fully recovered.

He wiped his face with his hand and flicked away several insects that were peppering his line of sight. He saw Sam walk towards Colonel O'Neill, her shadow seeming to lengthen with every stride. He watched them converse for a few moments, O'Neill resting his P90 across one of his knees as he perched his foot on a tumbled down block. The Colonel looked at his watch and then over to a vigilant Teal'c who was skirting their perimeter.

Jonas sighed and turned his attention to the Harlech settlement just visible beyond the thriving verdurous sea of the jungle. He envied their simple nomadic lifestyle, spending part of their year in the lush landscape to the north and the other here, close to the temple of their Fathers' and the Stargate.

He rubbed his brow and opened his canteen, letting the water scurry down his chin as he drank. He wiped its coolness into his face but the sensation was soon lost in the humidity. He turned back to his colleagues and let his mind float in thought, wondering if he was missing something.

Jonas mused over each slice of information, each detail until his surroundings became dull and distant. He felt time slip around him pulling him back into the past as ancient memories, like ghosts, flickered through his senses. These Images drifted, overlapping the present in indistinct sequins of emotion, dissolving before he had a chance to understand them.

Jonas let out a frustrated sigh and placed his head in his hands, trying to let his mind unwind. He reached for his opened canteen and placed it to his lips as everything around him fell silent. An apprehension filtered through the dimness of time, touching his soul; he breathed it in. They were waiting. The Wrnach were waiting for something they believed was imminent but it didn't come.

The Kelownan let the clarity of the vision wash over him as he quickly took a drink; he needed to look for that, which was no longer there. He stood up, smiling and flexed his hand.

Jack looked over towards the young alien. Jonas was looking back to the temple and O'Neill just knew he had that _dumb ass_ look on his face. He watched as the Kelownan began to painstakingly scrutinize each assembled block, pushing at the strong willed foliage that elegantly clad the stonework. He moved off out of the Colonel's line of sight, "Carter," Jack commanded.

Sam turned to where Jonas was seated. Seeing the young man was no longer there she began to jog back to the temple. "I'm on it Sir," she said breathlessly.

Jack nodded and rolled his eyes at the Jaffa.

Jonas found it, a blank slab, shrouded in the rich pall of the undergrowth. He pulled at the surly vegetation with gritted teeth, sending a multitude of insects scurrying from their homes. He wiped his hands across his vest, trying to remove the dirt and sap from his skin.

"Jonas?" Sam crouched down to see what the young man had found.

He turned to look at her, his eyes twinkling, "they got rid of it," he said excitedly.

"Rid of what?" Sam enquired, dragging a persistent vine from the stone block.

"The pain of their past," he cried like it was obvious.

Sam looked perplexed; Jonas smiled. "They erased all writings that related to what they feared the most. I think it was a final act, to purge the Wrnach of this, this terror. That's why they left the temple to fall into ruins; they had no need for it any more."

They both looked at the newly uncovered slab, "it's blank." Sam remarked pushing her hair behind her ear.

"No, no it's not," he guided her fingers across the moist boulder, "see, the writings have been chiselled off."

Sam's fingertips explored the roughness of the stone's exterior, "and see, here," Jonas moved her hand to the base, "these charcoal marks, there and, and there, this is where they burned it."

She gazed at him as he spoke, he so reminded her of Daniel; he smiled back at her releasing her hand. "Jonas it's still blank," she reminded.

"Yes, but it still has a story to tell."

Jonas reached his own hand to the block's damp surface and closed his eyes. The eye connected, scrolling through the pitch and sway of emotions held on the empty masonry. Images billowed around him in riotous colours of sensation, illuminating his probing mind. There was weeping, rivers of mournful tears for the disappeared, plucked like ripe fruit and taken to the heavens. The family names, of many generations, had once adorned this blackened epitaph so their sacrifice could not be forgotten. Jonas felt a coldness creep through the heat, a shade of a man full of hunger and craving. He blazed silver against the lush green, his icy eyes were brutal, almost reptilian and he moved with the confident prowess of a hunter.

Jonas witness this primeval creature stalk the Wrnach, its unremitting shadow covering the populace with a need to be fulfilled. He rocked slightly against the bleakness and despair, opening his eyes he looked at Sam. "'Yon owl!--pray God that all be well! 'Tis worse than any funeral bell; as sure as I've the gift of sight, we shall be meeting ghosts to-night!'"

He gave a sad laugh before tumbling onto the undergrowth, a globule of bright blood falling from his nose.

--------------------------

Sam joined O'Neill as he sat in the shade of an age-worn statue. "Turkey or Turkey?" She enquired holding two clinically wrapped parcels.

Jack shrugged taking the package from her left hand. "So how's Junior doing, any more poetic…" he paused unwrapping the foil, "...moments?"

Sam sat next to the Colonel watching him inspect the lifeless sandwich; she smiled. "No, Sir, he's resting, Teal'c's with him."

Jack nodded. "When we get back, I want him to take a break, get away from all this for a while." He took a bite and grimaced.

"It's not going to be that easy," the Major replied tilting her head a little.

Jack stared off and sighed, "yeah, I know, but we need to find a way."

He looked at her, she smiled, "what?" He asked.

Sam shook her head, "nothing."

"Carter?"

"He's grown on you," she stated.

O'Neill snorted, taking another ill advised chunk of dried bread, "like a boil Carter, like a boil," he brushed an insect away from his food.

Sam put her lunch down for a moment. "He drew this," she handed the Colonel a folded piece of paper. "Apparently it's what the Wrnach were running from."

Jack held the sketch out in front of him and frowned, turning it slightly before looking to Sam for clarification. "Marilyn Manson, they were running from Marilyn Manson? Hell so would I."

Carter gave a half smile and opened up the limp bread to discard a pickle. Jack watched her with raised eyebrows and then threw the pad to one side, "maybe it's just a case of too much MTV," he sighed. "You know he made a lot more sense when he just watched the weather channel."

Sam chewed quickly to get her words out, "he seemed quite certain that the Wrnach feared whatever _it_ was," she wiped some mayo from the side of her mouth.

Jack looked back to the pad and took a large bite of his dry sandwich, "we'll let Daniel sort it out when we get back." He reached for his canteen, taking a quick glance at his watch, "I think we should make a move within the hour."

The Major checked her own timepiece in unison. "Not quite what you had in mind for this weekend, Carter?" O'Neill remarked grinding the bread between his teeth.

Sam shook her head. "No Sir," she answered, watching him closely.

"You and Dick..?"

"Pete, Sir."

"Right, Pete have plans?" O'Neill turned to her with a questioning stare.

"Nothing concrete," she replied with a minute smile.

"Just as well," Jack observed, turning his gaze back to the labyrinth of fauna. "You know certain base personnel are running a book on your relationship."

Sam smiled, "I'd heard Sir."

O'Neill sat back, surprised, "who..?" He began to ask.

Carter gestured to the temple with a flick of her head. Jack nodded, "figures," he sighed rolling his eyes, "that kid has a problem with keeping secrets. Anyway, thought I'd offer to put some money down for you," he suggested. "You could clean up."

Sam looked down to the ground, shaking her head, "thanks Sir, but no thanks, it's still early days. Our jobs keep us fairly busy."

"Traffic cop, right?"

"Detective."

"Ah, well, the offer's still there if you ever wanna take it up."

"Thanks Sir, I'll bear that in mind." She watched O'Neill's anxious gaze turn back to the jungle. "Are you expecting company Sir?"

Jack shifted and screwed up his face, "I've got this itch Carter."

Sam remained silent but the bewildered look on her face caused O'Neill to roll his eyes. "_This feeling_," he clarified, "something just ain't right," he sighed, wiping his hand over his face.

"You think Ba'al's going to try something?" Carter asked, taking her canteen from her belt.

"He's sneaky enough," O'Neill replied throwing the rest of his food into the sponge of the undergrowth.

"He hasn't got the manpower to launch a full scale attack Sir, Kelowna's keeping him pretty busy," the Major answered watching her CO gather his thoughts.

The Colonel held up his hand, "I know, I know," he responded getting to his feet, "but I can't help thinking we've overlooked something."

He looked at Sam for a moment as she took a swig of water; she swallowed it quickly. "Like what Sir?"

O'Neill stretched out his hands, "likehow did Cassandra know Daniel was ill? He'd only had the cold for a day or two. Does the device randomly pick the first unwell person it comes across?"

Sam shrugged, "I would doubt it Sir that seems to be too haphazard."

Jack nodded, "so, then how did she know Daniel or, or Stoughton were safe to, you know, inhabit?"

"You think Ba'al has someone inside the base?" Sam asked finishing her sandwich.

O'Neill sighed and began to pace, "either that or, or there's another sick host we've missed." It was meant as a quip but the words stung with significance.

Sam narrowed her eyes; it made perfect sense, Ba'al had to have another host at the SGC, one whose medical condition allowed them to continue working.

O'Neill turned to face her; she returned his direct gaze. "You said that the device wouldn't pick someone at random."

Carter nodded, "in my opinion Sir, no."

"Then Ba'al, or his minions, would have to know this person had some sort of illness, to begin with, to, to _home_ in on."

Sam nodded again, "yes," she concluded.

"Well that must narrow the field down," Jack replied resting his arm against the statue.

"Sir!" Sam's warning cry made him look towards her.

"Don't move," she cautioned, pulling out her handgun and pointing it in his direction.

For a split second he wondered if she was playing host to Cassandra, "Carter?" He began.

Sam gestured to a large, weathered, hole in the belly of the statue with a nod of her head; Jack realised the danger. A variegated serpent was unfurling in the deity's cool, stone, stomach, sensing a danger in Jack's proximity. Sam licked her lips, her aim never wavering from the creature. The snake tasted the air, flexing its great body as it slowly unwound its tangled mass. Jack swallowed, remaining still as the sway of the creature caught the sun, varnishing its patterned scales with light. It stared at O'Neill and Jack could have sworn it smiled at him before deflating its posture and descending to the thick carpet of foliage on the ground.

"That was close Sir," Sam said, the relief in her voice apparent.

Jack wiped his brow, his gaze resting on the empty hollow that seemed to be bathed in light. "Damn it," he whispered, looking towards Carter.

She turned her attention to the hole in the statue's belly and the same realisation hit her, "Teal'c." She exclaimed, looking to her CO.

Jack nodded, "Teal'c," he concluded, his _itch_ gone.

They headed towards the temple steps just as the Stargate activated.

* * *


	18. Missing Diamond

"_Hey Jonas?" O'Neill asked, concerned, as a shaft of light, stemming from the dragon, hit the Kelownan's body. _

_Jonas' eyes glazed over and the sword, which O'Neill had discarded, flew into his hand. He walked, in a trance, over to the creature's carcass and stabbed its body once more._

"_Hey Jonas, its okay, the thing's dead," Jack told him._

_Where the sword had pieced the skin, the body started to freeze and rupture in a spread of spider web cracks until the whole carcass shattered like a great cathedral window. _

_Jonas stepped into Nidhogg's remains and picked something out from the debris and handed it to Jack, "Olmec's key," he whispered returning to normal._

_O'Neill looked at him and then at the large, glittering, diamond in his hand. It was as big as a baseball, flawless and shaped in a 'Round Brilliant' cut, except the culet (tip), which instead of being pointed, was squared off. "Wow," he said handing it to Sam, "this doesn't mean we're engaged or anything, Carter" he added. - Leviathan_

-----------------------

The undergrowth cushioned their sprint as the jungle clawed at their faces, the closeness of the air forgotten in their mad rush to get to the Stargate. Sam could hear O'Neill curse under his breath with each footfall, knowing he was blaming himself.

They made their way to the clearing just as Teal'c was about to step through the event horizon, an unconscious Jonas draped over his broad shoulder. The Jaffa turned and smiled smugly at them, silhouetted against the shimmering of the Gate.

Both O'Neill and Sam drew their weapons. "Okay buddy, just hold it right there," the Colonel shouted.

Teal'c cocked his head to one side, "you wouldn't want to harm this magnificent body, now Colonel, would you?" He spoke in a slightly feminine way, his hip inclined.

"Just put the kid down and you won't have to find out," O'Neill challenged through gritted teeth.

Morgan smiled perversely through the Jaffa, "I'm afraid I can't do that, Colonel Jack Sir, not even if you were to say pretty please. You see, I've waited a long time to catch up with my old friend here," he stroked Jonas' crumpled form like it was a treasured toy, "so if you'll excuse me…" He turned back to the Stargate.

Jack lowered his aim to the Jaffa's leg but the gun flew from his hand as did Sam's. "Now let's not be hasty," a female voice purred as Cassandra stepped through the pool of the Gate to join Morgan.

"Oh, did I forget to mention, I phoned a friend," Teal'c commented girlishly, softly embracing Cassandra's face with his free hand.

The young woman smiled and looked towards Carter, "don't fret so Sam, I'll take good care of Jonas, I promise," she placated, crossing her heart with her fingers.

"How come I don't believe you?" Sam shot back.

Cassandra grinned coldly, raising her eyebrows, "and all this time I thought Jack was the sceptical one."

O'Neill started to move forward but Cassandra pushed him back, hard, with her mind, "well you're the one working for the snakehead," he spat as he fell backwards onto the ground.

The young woman watched her companion as he took Jonas through the Gate, a callous smile never leaving her face. She then turned back to the remaining members of SG1, her stare feral and black. "Am I?" She raised with a heartless laugh.

"Cassie…" Sam began gently, taking a step forward.

"Save it," Cassandra bit into the humid air, turning it frigid, "you let me die, both of you."

"No sweetheart," Sam tried to soothe, "we let you ascend. It was what you wanted."

The young woman snorted, "yeah, well, death isn't all it's cracked up to be." Again she looked towards Sam, a smile pressing her lips apart, "you should try it some time."

Sam stepped back aware of Cassandra's threat; the young woman laughed like a shameless doxy.

"So how's this half-life working out for you? Must be tough not being one thing or the other? Although, I imagine, it has its advantages, being such a cold hearted bitch, if the air-con stops working on the car for instance?" O'Neill stood up, dusting his hands together, gaining Cassandra's full attention.

The young woman met his challenge with a malevolent stare, her mouth twitching with annoyance. "Why Jack, you still care, how sweet. Well let me put your mind at ease, very soon I'll be _whole_."

"Whole as in..?" Jack dared to ask.

"Alive," she obliged, dramatically.

O'Neill let out a grunt, "and how is that possible, you and Ba'al playing sarcophagus?"

Cassandra laughed, "I hear that's only reserved for you Jack," she taunted.

"Then how..?" Sam asked again.

"By someone taking my place," she answered with an irritated sigh.

"By someone else ascending?" Carter posed.

"No, Sam, by someone _descending_." Cassandra clarified.

Jack snorted, "and who's gonna be dumb enough to do that for you?" Regretting the words before they'd left his lips.

"Oh, I think we all know the answer to that one now, Colonel, don't you?" Cassandra remarked arrogantly, as she stepped through the Stargate.

"Jonas," Jack whispered as he watched her go.

* * *

Hammond met them as they ran down the ramp of the gate room, nodding to Carter as Jack stopped in front of him.

"We should have seen this coming," O'Neill cried angrily to no one in particular.

"Colonel," the General tried to calm him, reading the anger in his eyes.

Jack shook his head, rubbing his brow he gave a small laugh. "Well at least they haven't got their hands on the Baseball Diamond," he reflected, looking towards Hammond; The General grimaced.

O'Neill let out an exasperated sigh. "Tell me they haven't got the third key, Sir."

Hammond nodded his head slowly, "the diamond's missing, Jack."

O'Neill couldn't believe it, "as of?" He asked, frustrated.

"As of this morning," came the weary answered.

The Colonel resisted the urge to punch the wall, "well that's just great, just great." He threw his hands up, "now Ba'al's got everything he wants to be Master Of The Universe."

O'Neill looked at Sam and then glanced around the assembled faces, "where's Daniel, don't tell me he's missing too?"

"Doctor Jackson's in the infirmary," Hammond's reply was quiet.

The Colonel shook his head, "what still? I thought he'd been given the 'all clear'?"

The General held up his hand, "Jack, Miss Gardner was found unconscious in her room this morning; she's slipped into a coma."


	19. Black Dagger

Hold on to the basics  
But we can't change all our tactics  
there's no point sitting  
Going crazy on your own – Modern Way, **Kaiser Chiefs**

--------------------------

Morgan shut his eyes, letting Ba'al stroke his hair as he rested his head in the Goa'uld's lap. He allowed himself one smile that held nothing but happiness.

Ba'al's fingers rubbed at the fraught ends of his hair, releasing the fragrance the young Kelownan had brushed through. "You have done well, Morgan," the Goa'uld soothed, finishing his administrations and removing his touch. "But I want Quinn unharmed for the time being."

"Only until you have entered the city of the Ancients," the young man stated, with a contented yawn.

"That might not be for a while. I need Quinn to work on the Naquadria weapons project," the Goa'uld replied curtly.

The young man sat up, the loose robe he wore falling from one of his shoulders. "But my Lord, I thought…"

Ba'al stood up, bushing him aside. "It is best if you don't," he scolded, turning his back to view a systems report on a nearby screen.

Morgan followed his master, standing by his shoulder, "I... I don't understand. It is said that the City of the Ancients houses numerous weapons more powerful than anything we have seen."

Ba'al looked at him, "It is said, is it?" He scoffed, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "My sweet Hok'tar the Ancients were hardly known for their prowess on the battlefields, they preferred to run and hide."

"They invented the Stargate." Morgan quickly reminded.

"Ah yes, a formidable weapon," Ba'al mocked and gave a short, audible laugh.

"But developing a weapon could take years, what about_ my_ revenge? You promised me…" Morgan whined, his lips forming a perfect pout.

The Goa'uld silenced his petition, squeezing his face with one hand, crushing its soft skin. "You have waited this long, Morgan," he hissed. "You must have patience. Quinn works on the Naquadria project and is not to be touched. Do I make myself clear?"

The young man nodded but his eyes betrayed him; Ba'al laughed again, cocking an eyebrow. He reached into his pocket and dropping its contents into the young man's hand. "Here, I though you would be somewhat disappointed."

Morgan's long fingers caressed the gift, "it's beautiful," he exclaimed, holding the diamond-crusted, pendant against the pale skin of his chest.

"I believe it once had pride of place in one of your museums, such a waste." Ba'al waved his hand nonchalantly at the jewel.

"And this, this is for me?" Morgan held the necklace up to the light, entranced by its spark of the sizable stones.

"With my gratitude," the Goa'uld eased, watching the young man's eyes glitter with avarice.

"Then I will wear it at dinner tonight," Morgan expressed with delight.

"As you wish," Ba'al remarked, with indifference.

Morgan seemed unaware of his master's apathy, his head turned by the magnificence of the necklace. He closed his hand, lovingly, around it and clutched it to his chest. He gave a backward glance to the Goa'uld before leaving; Ba'al remained focused on the screen.

When he heard the door close he walked over to the chess board, resting on his knuckles to view the pieces. He picked up the black bishop and turned it in his hand; Morgan was easily placated.

With his other hand he selected the opposing piece; considering the two bishops side by side. He smiled, placing the black one down so he could view the other more closely. He twisted it in his fingers pondering his options. "Well Jonas Quinn what manner of man are you?" He asked the silent chunk of marble.

With another smirk on his lips he answered, "I aim to find out and see what use you can be to me."

He placed the white bishop alongside the black inadvertently knocking the latter to the floor.

* * *

Jonas opened his eyes and then promptly shut them, the light spiking his eyes with malice. He let out a groan and rubbed his forehead with an open palm, trying to stop the throb. 

"Jonas Quinn?" Teal'c's concerned voice cut through the storm in his head.

The Kelownan sighed, "just, just give me a minute."

He leaned back against the wall of the cell and tried his eyes again, nausea gestating in his gut. He blew out his cheeks, "is it bright in here?"

"I believe not," He heard the other reply.

"Oh." Jonas shielded his eyes trying to get his bearings.

The Jaffa shifted towards him and placed a hand on his brow. Jonas looked up into Teal'c troubled face and gave a light smile. "The décor's better than I imagined," he remarked looking around.

The Jaffa's mouth twitched, "indeed," he replied resting back against the wall also. "How are you feeling?"

Jonas looked across the cell, "a little fuzzy, can't seem to focus." He pinched his nose.

"I believe they gave you a sedative," the Jaffa commented, looking at the crook of the young man's arm.

Jonas followed his gaze, noticing the large bruise developing on the skin, "great," he exclaimed bringing his knees to his chest to hug. He turned his attention to the other man, "and you?" He asked.

Teal'c inclined his head, "I am fine," the Jaffa reflected not looking Quinn in the eye.

Jonas noticed his friend's hand was trembling slightly, "how long was I out?"

"A number of hours," the Jaffa's face remained blank.

"And when are you due another shot of Tretonin?"

Teal'c looked at the young man, his face impassive, "an hour ago."

"Teal'c…"

"Do not worry, Jonas Quinn I can hold out."

"For how long?"

The Jaffa went to answer but his reply was muffled by the drone of the cell revolving. Jonas held his hands to his head to dampen pounding in his brain. He tried not to follow the spin of the walls, "is that just me?" He shouted.

"I believe not," the Jaffa replied as he was forced against the wall.

--------------------------

Jack was restless, he did not do 'waiting', it wasn't in his nature. He skulked along the corridors, hands in his pockets, counting his tireless footsteps. He could be sat at his desk, trawling through the stack of official papers that loomed precariously over his in tray but he was in no mood for paperwork.

He stopped at the infirmary and looked in on Daniel who was sat beside Sarah. The Egyptologist was reading in German from a paperback he had folded in his hands. Jack lent against the doorframe listening to the foreign language dominate the room, challenging the flow of the monitoring equipment that anchored the Englishwoman to the bed. He tapped lightly on the wooden surround causing Daniel to stop and look towards the entrance.

"I'm heading to the commissary, can I get you anything? Coffee, cake, Bratwurst?" He offered.

Daniel smiled warmly, turning in the seat, "um, no Jack I'm fine. I'm gonna head there myself in a short while." He inadvertently looked at his watch.

"Right, then." O'Neill acknowledged with a wave of his hand.

"Hey, but thanks anyway." Jackson added, flexing the spine of the book.

"Sure, no problem." Jack placed his hands in his pockets and turned to go.

Daniel looked towards to Sarah, observing the rise and fall of her chest. "They say it helps," he said quietly.

Jack stopped; Daniel held up the book in way of explanation. "Reading to Sarah, well talking to her, they say it helps."

Jack gave a twitch of a smile, a little uncomfortable. "Well if that's what they say," he offered encouragingly.

The Egyptologist nodded, finding his place in the book. "I'll save you a spot, then," O'Neill suggested, turning once again to the corridor.

"Yeah, thanks Jack," Daniel replied, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Any news yet?" He turned his focus back to the Colonel.

O'Neill sighed, looking back at the Egyptologist. "The Tok'ra are with the General now." Jack tapped his pager.

"Right." Jackson said with a nod.

"Right," the Colonel repeated, placing his hands back in his pockets. "I'm gonna see if Carter wants to grab a coffee." He nodded in the direction of Sam's office, "or a slice of cake."

Daniel sighed, he knew O'Neill was worried, "he's a tough kid, Jack," he voiced.

Jack gave a puzzled shake of his head; Daniel gave an exasperated shake of his own; he'd play Jack's game. "Jonas, he's a tough kid."

"Right, Jonas, sure, it's not like it's his first time being captured by a Goa'uld. No, it's the big guy I'm worried about. I mean who the hell, you know, _possessed_ him? It sorta freaked me out seeing him…" he hesitated, "…mince."

Daniel smiled, after all this time, he should have known Jack wasn't going to open up. "We'll get them back," he said finally as he watched O'Neill leave.

The Colonel looked over his shoulder, "I know Daniel, I know."

---------------------------------

Cassie paced her chamber, her mood fiery. She dug her nails into the flesh on her arm, scraping them into its yielding surface. The jagged ache did nothing to relieve the pressure pinching at her every nerve. She twisted her face and snarled with anger, feeling her control slipping away. Ba'al wanted to wait.

She clenched her fist wanting to tear the Goa'uld limb from limb in a merciless attack; she could not afford to wait.

She sat down in the corner of the room, rocking her body, the back of her head banging against the wall. She pressed her palms into her temples and let her fingers tear into her scalp, pulling at her hair. She screamed.

Cassie looked at her arms, at the deep lesions that parted the fat of the skin, at the lack of blood that refused to cry for the wounds. She was living on borrowed breath. She placed a hand under her gown, to the stillness of her chest, on flesh desperate to know warmth and life again.

She looked into the coveting shadows thrown by the light and whispered to its soul, pleading for help, praying for reassurance. The darkness gathered round her petition, embracing her in its hollow and offering a solution; a slim ebony dagger.

Cassandra smiled and wrapped her pallid fingers around the weapon. She held the hilt to her cheek, drawing comfort from the sheen of iniquity engraved upon its polished stone. She sat back, cradling the knife like a small child and laughed. The darkness was not prepared to wait either.

------------------------------------


	20. Under The Weather

Under this national rain cloud  
I'm getting soaked to the skin  
Trying to find my umbrella  
But I don't know where to begin

And it's simply irrational weather  
Can't even hear myself think   
Constantly bailing out water  
But still feel like I'm gonna sink – Under The Weather – KT Tunstall

-

* * *

The Jaffa guards marched Jonas to a large chamber, the young man wearily trying to keep pace with their rhythmic steps. Ba'al stood up from the chess board and gestured for the Kelownan to occupy the other chair. Jonas obliged and the Jaffa withdrew to the doorway. The Goa'uld sat back down and smiled. "Mister Quinn, how nice of you to join me."

"I don't remember having much of a choice." The Kelownan answered, clasping his hands to stop them shuddering from the effects of the drug.

Ba'al laughed and sat back in his chair, leaning his elbow on the lavishly carved arm. "But if I'd asked you to _join _me would you have come?" He tilted his body, resting his head against his spread fingers to await the other man's response.

Jonas remained upright, "I guess not," he replied, a little unevenly, "but then again, you've been a little _hostile_ to members of SG1 in the past."

The Goa'uld crossed his legs, idly smoothing down his trouser leg. "Ah, yes, how is Colonel O'Neill? I must admit, I miss having him_ hanging_ around. The place hasn't been the same since he left. It's lost a certain…," Ba'al's focus returned to Jonas, "…ambience." He concluded with an open grin.

The young man narrowed his eyes, resentment sparking his words. "If you're expecting me to take his place, I assure you, I will not be easy to break," he stated, trying not to let the light of the room smother him in its blistering glow.

Ba'al rubbed his index finger above his top lip and smirked. "My dear Mr. Quinn you are a guest here, I don't make a habit of torturing my guests," he asserted with a twinkle of sarcasm.

"But you do imprison them?" Jonas challenged, pushing himself backward in the chair.

The Goa'uld waved the question with a flick of his hand. "That is for your own protection. There are certain factions here who wish you harm, including my own very spiteful Hok'tar. My only wish is to protect you as a good host should do." He paused and leaned forward. "You have a gift, I am told, to be able to read men's hearts? Can you read a god's?" Ba'al's eyes glowed with expectation as he looked down at the imprint on the Kelownan's uncovered palm.

Jonas edged forward, wrapping his arms around his trembling body. "If I wasn't pumped full of what ever cocktail you injected me with _and_ if there was a god around, yeah, I'd give it a try."

One of the Jaffa guards stepped forward ready to strike but Ba'al stopped him; he bowed his head and returned to his position by the door.

The Goa'uld remained forward, "I would not accept that from any other man," he hissed, "but you are more than a man Jonas Quinn, you have been fashioned from a god. You and I share the same genetic make-up; we are, in fact, divine amongst these mortals and so born to rule them. You must feel it, the supremacy of our being, in that part of your soul you share with Anubis?"

Jonas rubbed his fingertips through the film of sweat on his forehead and looked away. "No, there is nothing of Anubis within me," he declared.

Ba'al smiled and continued to probe. "Really? I find that hard to believe, still I can only wonder at the power you possess, the potential. It must be hard, for someone with your abilities, to hide _who_ you really are?"

"I have nothing to hide." Jonas replied, feeling a dryness in his mouth.

The Goa'uld nodded, "then you are lucky indeed, for many would fear what you are, like those on your home world for instance."

"The Kelownan's have always been narrow-minded." The young man retorted, wiping a hand across his face.

"Then you are fortunate that the Tau'ri are more enlightened and embrace the Goa'uld in you as well as the human," he paused and brought his gaze to Jonas', "just as I would." He let the statement soak through the narcotic haze then turned his attention to the chessboard. "Tell me, do you play?"

* * *

Jack made his way to Hammond's office. The General was stood outside his door bidding his visitors a stiff and formal farewell. Jacob looked up at the approaching footsteps, "Jack," he acknowledged, holding out his hand. 

O'Neill took it, "Jacob," he returned with a slight nod of his head.

Malek just grunted a greeting keeping his hands firmly clasped behind his back. He turned his attention back to Hammond, "General we will be leaving in an hour, be sure your team is ready. We will not wait."

The older man signalled his acceptance and Malek gave a curt nod as he walked off; Jacob followed glancing back to Hammond and O'Neill.

The General looked towards Jack and indicated for him to enter his office. "So did you guys come up with a rescue plan?" The Colonel enquired, waiting for the other man to close the door.

Hammond walked around his desk and paused for a moment to rub his eyebrow; he looked tired. "Sit down Jack." He said firmly, taking a seat.

"I take it there is going to be a rescue plan?" O'Neill urged.

The older man sighed and rested his arms on the desk, "Jack, the Tok'ra High Council have been planning an assault on Ba'al's Ha'tak for a number of weeks now. They have acquired a Tel'tak, it was slightly damaged in a fire fight but all key operations are functional including the hyper-drive and cloaking device."

"Neat," Jack replied.

Hammond ignored the comment. "Their plan is to pilot the cargo ship to Kelownan and board the Ha'tak with an aim to set several explosive charges."

"And Jonas and Teal'c?" Jack waited, his eyes holding the General's gaze.

"The Tok'ra have given their permission…"

"Their permission?" O'Neill echoed, ironically.

Hammond held up his hand, "their permission…," he continued, his voice carrying around the windowless office, "…for us to join their operation to free our men. There will be an opportunity to mount a rescue while the charges are being laid."

"With all due respect General that doesn't give us a hell of a lot of time," O'Neill remarked, "couldn't we…"

Hammond interrupted, locking his fingers together in front of him. "Colonel I have to stress that this is a Tok'ra operation and therefore you and your team will fall under the command…"

"Sir, I…" O'Neill went to argue but the General silenced him.

"Hell, Jack, I need you to _try_ and be diplomatic on this one, the Tok'ra are doing us a favour here."

O'Neill conceded with a shrug, "I can be diplomatic, Sir," he replied opening out his arms.

Hammond sighed and scratched his head, "that's what I'm afraid of son," he replied warily, "that's what I'm afraid of."

---------------------------------------

Ba'al held both hands out in front of him, his fists tightly clenched. Jonas looked from one to the other nodding to the Goa'uld's left. "White, how apt," Ba'al said with a smirk, revealing the young man's choice in his open palm. "Your move." He gestured to the board with a sweep of his hand.

The Kelownan studied his two rows of game pieces letting his mind focus on the consequences of his opening move. He deftly lifted his pawn and placed it back down with confidence, taking control of the centre of the board. The Goa'uld watched him closely, his mind split between the game and his opponent. He moved his own pawn to mirror that of the Kelownan's. "So why do you think I brought you here?" He asked, lifting his finger slowly from the piece.

Jonas was thrown a little off guard by the question; he rubbed his temple, leaning on the arm of his chair. "To play chess?" He retorted, contemplating his next move.

Ba'al smiled, relaxing back in his seat, as Jonas moved his knight. "Ah, if only that were the case." He picked up his black horseman and turned it over in his hand. "Why not have another guess?"

"I think we both know why?" Jonas rested his gaze on Ba'al's fingers as he fondled the finely carved piece.

"Indulge me," he replied, positioning the knight back on the board to threaten the Kelownan's pawn, his eyes demanding an answer.

Jonas looked away, "because I can help you find Atlantis," his whispered through the closeness assaulting his senses.

The Goa'uld watched as the Kelownan began to shiver slightly in the balmy temperature of the room. "Please accept my apologies for the use of the drug, it was entirely a precautionary measure; after all, your abilities give you the upper hand here. I hope we can come to some_ other_ arrangement in the course of our discussion. May I get you anything, water perhaps?"

Jonas looked at him suspiciously, Ba'al smiled, "I will offer to drink some for you if it will put your mind at ease," he suggested, signalling for a young boy to pour some water from a pitcher.

The child did as he was bid, handing the glass to his master.Ba'al put it to his lips and took a long drink from the cut crystal, watching Jonas as he swallowed. He wiped the rim with his fingertip before handing it over. "There, see, just water I can assure you."

Jonas took the drink he was offered and cradled it with two hands, feeling the weight of the vessel's workmanship. He consumed it readily; a thirst was making sand dunes in his mouth.

Ba'al smiled and signalled to the boy to refill the glass, waiting while Jonas had his fill. "Now where were we?" The Goa'uld began, looking back to the board, "ah, Atlantis, a glittering prize indeed but I am a cautious man, Jonas Quinn, as you will learn and for most who have sort that fabled city it has been their downfall. No, I am prepared to wait a while before I go chasing myths and monsters in the fog." He observed the young man's reaction, satisfied he was confused. "Your move," he indicated to the board.

Jonas found he was hesitant; the drug seemed to be clogging his concentration. He dug deep, moving his bishop into the game. "Then why this little chat?"

Ba'al swiftly moved his knight to take Jonas' pawn. "I would like you to resume your work on the Naquadria project."

Jonas kept his eyes on the board for moment and then stood up. "If you think I would help you or Ravel build some sort of weapon…" His voice was shaky but his anger cut through the room. One of the Jaffas moved forward, pressing him roughly back into the chair.

The Goa'uld remained composed, "please hear me out before you make any rash decisions," he warned, his eyes burning in the dimly lit chamber.

Ba'al gestured for the boy to bring him a drink while Jonas moved his shoulder away from the vice like grip of the Jaffa guard resolute that he would not be swayed. The Goa'uld studied the young man's resolve and smiled. He took a sip of the wine he was served, "I am disappointed with you, Jonas Quinn," he said after a short pause.

"Disappointed?" The Kelownan retorted with more self-control than he felt.

"Yes, I thought you were more insightful. What led you to believe I would share any technological advancements with a mere human?" The words were spoken with aloofness.

Jonas remained silent. "Please," Ba'al said with the same indifference, motioning for him to continue with the game.

The Kelownan rubbed the back of his neck, keeping his mind focused on the board and away from the disquiet he was feeling from Ba'al's constant scrutiny. He moved his queen to the edge of the board threatening the pawn to the right of the black king, a square that he also controlled with his bishop.

"Interesting move," Ba'al said with admiration, resting his chin in his hand as he pondered his own game plan. He looked from the board to his opponent, "you know Ravel had the Naquadria's lead scientists executed?" It was a rhetorical question.

Jonas swallowed remembering their faces, Ba'al continued, "and now all he is left with, apart from my operative, is extremists from his youth movement." He sighed, "students full of zeal and fanaticism, an interesting mix, I believe the Tau'ri would use the term _explosive_."

Again Ba'al watched the young man's reaction. "Of course it's only a matter of time before a mistake is made and…" Ba'al defended his position by moving his queen, bringing it solidly down on the board. "…bang!" He emphasised rather dramatically, "no more Langaria for anyone. It makes the fighting down there seem a little pointless." He turned his attention to the planet they were orbiting.

Jonas also looked towards the rectangular viewing port. "I'm _appealing_ to your conscience, Jonas Quinn, I want you to oversee the research, as you have done in the past."

The Kelownan stood up and walked to the window mentally trying to free himself from the web Ba'al was spinning. The Goa'uld watched him closely, letting him consider his options; he surreptitiously picked up the white king and closed his hand around it.

"What if I refuse?" Jonas turned back to the seated man; Ba'al had been expecting the question.

He took another drink and crossed his legs. "Of course that is your prerogative and I can understand your indecision, they're not _your_ people after all. Everyone you ever cared about, down there, is dead, your family, your mentor Doctor Kieran, First Minister Dreylock, all that's left is millions of nameless faces. Why should you jump through the glass to save them?"

He motioned for one of the Jaffa to come forward. The guard placed a cylindrical object down on the chess board and bowed his head as he backed away.

Ba'al gestured for Jonas to examine the item; the young man walked back and picked it up from the table. "What's this?" He questioned, turning it in his grasp.

Ba'al smiled and leant forward, placing his glass on the board. "Have you ever witnessed a Jaffa's demise once the symbiote has been removed?" He began with a perverse fascination, "it is a pitiful sight. The body ages and breaks down, the Jaffa becomes racked with pain that you cannot even imagine, it can take weeks before death finally claims their soul and all that is left of a once proud warrior is a wretched bag of bones."

Jonas looked from the object in his hand to the Goa'uld. Ba'al answered the unspoken question, "the injector contains a small dose of Tretonin just enough to get your Shol'va through the next few days. Of course that all depends on your answer to my proposition and I would consider it carefully, Jonas Quinn, you have too few friends as it is."

Ba'al released his hold on the white king and let it drop onto the board.


	21. Poppies

Devil's Rope Barbwire

* * *

**In Flanders Fields**  
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)  
Canadian Army 

In Flanders fields the poppies blow  
Between the crosses, row on row,  
That mark our place; and in the sky  
The larks, still bravely singing, fly  
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago  
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,  
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie  
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:  
To you from failing hands we throw  
The torch; be yours to hold it high.  
If ye break faith with us who die  
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow  
In Flanders fields.

* * *

He was broken. Cold was his heavy grey overcoat and his uniform was of mud. He lay back against the soft earth of the trench surrounded by his fallen comrades shrouded in the sod they had fought so hard for, obscuring any traces of race or creed. All were dead. Blessed with a peace their abused and traumatized bodies did not convey, lying twisted in the rigid throes of death. 

The rats had been and gone, adding their own epitaph to each carcass by gorging themselves on the remains. They had taken the eyes first, maybe out of kindness to blind the dead from the horrors that surrounded them and to save their tears for paradise.

He turned his face to the spread of the rain, too fine to wash the sins of war from his skin but fresh enough to give him hope. He looked down at the wound in his stomach, surprised there was no pain or blood. He eased himself to his feet, watching the water and filth pool around his ankles, mindful of the pull of the mud that had taken many more in the safety of the trench.

He looked out onto the petrified battlefield dormant in this silent petition to the dawn. It was a desolate place, bleeding lead and iron from the manmade scars that scorched its ashen loam. Everything was still, nothing moved, except for the chill of the early morning mist.

He sighed, a weary sigh, one of fatigue and collapse and looked around him one last time. There was no life here. No glory, no honour, just the stench of a wasted generation. Starved corpses left to mature and ripen to bones. Sons, brothers, fathers enriching not life but the sod of a foreign field. Stolen, taken in the night in payment for, no, to save a way of life that would change forever.

He shouldered his rifle and with a great effort hoisted himself over the escarpment of the trench. He took a deep breath; the air was no fresher up here it just tasted a little sweeter, a little further away from the grave. He wanted to close his eyes on the carnage but he found he could not, for it was there, etched in his soul for him to carry until death.

He steadied himself on the unwelcoming earth, turning his head slightly, sensing something stalking him. He took a deep breath letting his experience focus beyond what his eyes could see. Death. He could feel it shadowing him, resting in his footsteps, waiting for him with its arms open. Was it time to let go?

He stood up straight, without a care for the whip of a bullet. He looked down at the wound again, was he being tested? Was death taunting him, willing him to let go? Was it time?

He opened out his arms and pushed his head back, leaving himself vulnerable. "Is it time?" he cried to an unseen enemy, turning on the spot.

He waited. No one answered.

A solitary raven watched from a burnt tree, stunted and bare in this stark backdrop of hell. It shrieked a reply that resounded off the smoke of the landscape, like the snap of a rifle._ "Nevermore,"_ it cried, stretching out its funeral wings to encompass its full belly.

Teal'c turned his head to the creature as it disappeared into the oppressive sky with a flick of its wings. Then silence returned, apart from the slip of mud into a waterlogged trench. It was not the answer he was looking for.

He looked around him, uncertain as to which way he should head, the mud creeping about his feet. The cloud cover split, momentarily and the agile sunlight sanctified the sodden ground making mirrors in the mire. Teal'c watched the ground dance with silver as it beckoned him to follow its glow; so he headed for the light.

His path was not easy and he staggered like a man on the parapet of death. He used his rifle to steady himself, stopping frequently to find the will to continue. It was hard fought, the dead watched him at each step, bidding him to rest and lie with them. He tried to block out their pleas, concentrating on making it to the next trench or foxhole, or abandoned body snared in the devil's rope.

The rain had stopped but the cloud refused to yield, blackening the front line. The encumbering mud hardened to his skin like armour plating. How far had he journeyed, how long? He looked back over his shoulder, his path lost in the indistinguishable wasteland. He did not know and time was irrelevant. There would be no respite, it was move or die and his resolve was weakening. He fell to his knees, resting his weight on the rifle, his body and soul ready to capitulate. He was broken.

Teal'c closed his eyes surrendering to the tears of despair, trying to find some words to lift his heart but prayers too are wasted in hell. He opened his eyes ready to die among the dead but instead of bodies, the earth offered him its own prayer; a flower, red against the lead of the ground. The Jaffa dropped his rifle and placed his hands around the plant's base, unable to draw his gaze from it. He clung to the flame of its colour not for warmth but in hope.

"It's a poppy." A woman's voice skipped into his nightmare, like the dance of the far away sun.

He looked around him, the slurry of war gone and in its place were glorious meadows of playful poppies. A woman sat amongst these nodding heads of scarlet on a large picnic blanket, drinking from a china teacup. She wore a plain white dress that fell just above her ankles, her feet were both clean and bare.

She looked up at him, tilting her head gently to one side. "Would you care to join me?" She asked with a widening smile.

Teal'c remained silent as she lifted the teacup from its saucer and tipped it to her lips. "It's Earl Grey," she furnished, drinking once again from the delicate china.

"I am hardly dressed for such an occasion," Teal'c remarked, almost mesmerised by the brilliance of her attire.

"Nonsense," the woman replied, placing the cup down beside her. "Come, sit with me," she patted the blanket.

The Jaffa looked around him to make sure that it was _he_ who was the focus of her attention. Finding no one else he attempted to dust the mud from his uniform and found he too was dressed in white. He looked back to the woman. "See, the perfect attire for our picnic. Jackson," she called out. "If you would be so kind, another cup of tea for our guest."

A man appeared wearing a butler's uniform and carrying a tray. "Daniel Jackson," Teal'c remarked, warily sitting down as the tray was placed beside him.

The Egyptologist looked up, "lemon?" He asked, holding a segment by some silver tongs.

Teal'c nodded, slowly; Daniel dropped the lemon slice into a teacup which was also decorated with poppies. "Do you know why wild poppies love battlefields?" Jackson began, tapping the glazed china. "Because they only flower when all other plants in their vicinity are dead. They sleep, you see, in the ground, waiting patiently over the years for their opportunity. Then, when there are no more rival flowers or shrubs and enough rooted up soil they will spout and bloom reminding us of the blood we've spilt." He smiled bending over to hand Teal'c the drink.

He stayed close to the Jaffa's ear, "also the poppy contains opium from which morphine is made." He looked over his shoulder and winked at the woman. "In wartime some doctors used this drug in a higher dose to put a fatally wounded soldier out of their misery and let them sleep in the soil forever." He focused on the wound in Teal'c's stomach, sucking in air and shaking his head.

The warrior looked from Daniel to the woman. "Am I dead?" He asked.

She smiled, "no, not yet, Teal'c. You are caught between the two spheres of existence."

"Life and death," Daniel explained helpfully, standing up straight.

The Jaffa placed the teacup down, "who are you?" He directed his question at the woman.

She smiled, "my name is Oma and I am here to counsel you."

Teal'c looked towards Daniel, Oma answered his unspoken question. "He too is here to offer you guidance."

The Egyptologist casually saluted. "Then none of this is real, the battlefield before?" The Jaffa voiced.

"It is to you," Oma answered, "it is of your own making."

"How so?" The warrior enquired.

"It is your inner battle," she remarked. "Do you choose death and move on or do you fight and live? You are at a crossroads, Teal'c, both paths are open to you." She took another sip of tea.

Daniel stood before him, eclipsing the sun. "You have fought hard, my friend, maybe it's time to move on and release your burden. There are others who can continue the fight in your name. Let go, Teal'c, sleep, where the sun can warm your face." He offered the warrior the teacup again, which had appeared in his hand.

The Jaffa turned his attention to Oma, "and this?" He asked widening his hands.

"It is a respite," she answered, "a safe place to gather your thoughts."

"Maybe it's the afterlife," Daniel countered, "the place which has been chosen for you to ascend. Is it not peaceful?" Again he offered the drink.

"It is your choice," Oma reiterated, her eyes holding his gaze.

The heavens darken, Daniel looked towards the sky, "it looks like rain," he observed, angrily.

A sudden wind swiped at the meadow with malice and Teal'c thought he heard something in the distance. He looked round, "what was that?" He asked the two guides.

"I heard nothing," Oma answered, her eyes downcast.

"It was just the breeze," the Egyptologist offered with a reassuring smile.

"Teal'c!" The Jaffa heard the remote voice petition him; he stood up.

"Someone is calling to me, do you not hear that?" The others remained silent but there was something in Oma's eyes that betrayed she had.

"Teal'c!" This time the cry was panicked; the Jaffa turned round as he tried to locate the source.

"Teal'c! The voice was louder and full of terror; The Jaffa recognised it.

"Jonas Quinn," he shouted in reply, moving away from the others.

Daniel caught his arm, "do not be too hasty, my friend, stay, it is none of your concern," he hissed in the Jaffa's ear.

Teal'c stopped and looked him in the eye, "I believe you are no friend to me," he remarked, shaking off the other man's grip.

The Egyptologist screeched and flung his arms out wide as they transformed into wings. The raven lingered where once Daniel Jackson had stood, its wings beating time with the Jaffa's heart. Teal'c heard his name called again and turned back into the battlefield; the meadow gone.

Shells exploded around him making silhouettes of the men fleeing the barrage. Earth and blood as well as rain cascaded down in an unremitting deluge of misery. The six-fold song of the heavy guns boomed across the open ground in low-pitched, staccato, thuds that resounded off his chest. Shrapnel bursts, like dark spectres

haunting the gun metal sky, reaped the souls of the dead, dressed in wisps of a charcoal crinoline; and Teal'c ran into the heart of this mêlée without a thought for his own safety.

The sleet of the battlefield stung his eyes as he stopped to take stock of his surroundings. He wiped a hand across is face; Jonas was near, he could somehow sense it. He made his way to the edge of a nearby trench, ducking down to avoid a volley of bullets that hit the ground to his left. He looked over into the dugout and saw Jonas struggling in the waterlogged channel that was already waste high.

The young man looked up and smiled warmly, forgetting his predicament. "Teal'c, I thought I'd lost you." His breath caught in the freezing air.

"I am here Jonas Quinn," he replied, reaching down to grasp his friend's icy hand.

He tried to hoist the Kelownan free. "It's no good, I'm stuck good, it's the mud, I… I can't feel my legs." The young man's eyes met his own in a futile gaze; Teal'c was not about to give up.

He dug his heels into the soft mud parapet, sending a multitude of red slugs and horned beetles from the safety of their ledges into the foul water below. He placed his grip around Jonas' wrists and pulled with every ounce of his being; his consciousness demanding that he ignored the searing pain from his wounds. The Kelownan gave a cry of pain and Teal'c released his hold. "I am sorry," he said softly. "I will see if it is possible to dig you out."

A shell exploded, showering both men in debris. Teal'c was thrown backwards and for a second blacked out. When he regained consciousness Jonas was up to his neck in water pouring in from a collapsed bomb crater. He swung his legs round ready to plunge into the trench when an urgent and exhausted cry from the Kelownan stopped him. "No, Teal'c, I can't lose you too."

As Teal'c's weary brain tried to make sense of the insistent statement he became aware of others turning gracefully in the murky depths. Bloated husks of men met his gaze with colourless stares of despondency that told him he was too late.

Teal'c looked back to his friend and Jonas extended his fingers to reach for the other man's hand; the Jaffa took them firmly. "Don't give up, Teal'c," the young man implored as he began to slip beneath the cloudy water. "Stay with me."

"I will not leave you, Jonas Quinn," he replied, trying to hold on as the Kelownan's grasp relaxed and slipped from his own.

"Jonas, Jonas!" Teal'c leant over the dugout, frantically searching the muddy pool; the young man had disappeared.

* * *

Teal'c lay on the soft earth waiting for death. He had watched the ensuing fire-fight stain the stars in a dazzling chorus of light and sound but now those stars had given way to the gloom of day. The battle had ended apart from a few snipers' bullets which volleyed from trench to trench. 

_Deuce, _his tired brain mocked as he heard a slug hit some curious unfortunate. Was he really keeping count? He smiled despite himself and felt the need to laugh but all that came to his lips was a few suppressed sobs. He didn't even move when a pair of encrusted boots stopped at his shoulder.

"He still lives," a harsh voice remarked.

A stretcher was placed beside him and he felt a pair of hands lightly check him over, "Teal'c?"

He glanced up at the medic whose face was obscured by the shadow of his tin hat; he swallowed. "Jonas Quinn?" His words broke on his lips. He tried to sit up.

The young man gently stopped him and eased him back down. "It's okay, Teal'c, you're going to be alright."

"I don't understand, I thought you were dead." He gripped Jonas' hand as he felt the young man roll up his sleeve.

"You've been dreaming but everything's going to be alright now," the Kelownan reassured.

Teal'c felt something prick his skin; again he tried to sit, "what…" But fatigue caught him in its tender embrace.

* * *

Teal'c awoke to the buzz of the holding cell, his bruised mind getting its bearings. He began to sit up and was quickly aided by the young Kelownan. "How are you feeling?" Jonas asked, easing the Jaffa against the wall. 

"I am fine," Teal'c answered with a decisive nod.

Jonas handed him a canteen of water, "here."

The Jaffa took it and drank; his gaze never leaving the young man's harried face. "Did you sleep Jonas Quinn?" Teal'c asked.

The young man gave a defensive smile. "A little," he replied as Teal handed the canteen back.

The Jaffa looked down at his arm and then to the canister that lay beside him. He picked it up and looked towards Jonas, "tretonin," the young man offered mutely, "a small dose, enough for a few days."

Teal'c rolled the injector between his fingers as the question rose to his lips, "how did you come by…?"

"Ba'al," the Kelownan retorted in a mere whisper.

Teal'c tensed, sitting forward, "Jonas Quinn why did the Goa'uld give you this drug?" He held the Kelownan's gaze.

Jonas looked away for a moment and then reasserted eye contact, "for my agreement to help with the Naquadria project."

"The same project Daniel Jackson died trying to stop?" The Jaffa made no judgements.

"Yes," came the subdued reply.

The Jaffa nodded watching the young man closely studying the strain etched on his features. Jonas scrubbed a hand over his face and round the back of his neck. He gave Teal'c a petitioning look, "maybe, when I'm down there, I can find a means for us to escape. If I could make contact the rebels..?"

There was a buoyancy in his voice the Jaffa did not want to squash. He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the chamber wall. "I believe you will find few friends down on your home world, Jonas Quinn but if you get the chance to escape you must be sure to take it." Without opening his eyes he knew the young man was staring at him in disbelief.

"I will not leave without you, Teal'c," the young man pledged.

The Jaffa opened his eyes and found Jonas mirroring his stance against the opposite wall. "And the Naquadria project?"

The Kelownan crossed his legs and sat forward, "I will stall them as long as I can." He thought it best not to mention Ba'al's operative.

Teal'c could see he had given this a lot of thought. "Ba'al is not stupid Jonas."

"I know, I know but he is no scientist. I'm sure I can delude him long enough. Maybe until I can get full use of my ability." He stretched the fingers of his hand.

Teal'c watched him; no Ba'al was not stupid. He had used him to obtain Jonas' compliance without having to harm the young man and therefore keeping his prize intact for when he wanted to tap the Kelownan's power. He would wear the young man's resistance down, slowly, until he wholly belonged to the Goa'uld.

Teal'c thought about refusing the next dose of tretonin but he knew this would only add to his young friend's anguish. He remembered his 'dream' and Jonas' fearful cry, _"no, Teal'c, I can't lose you too," _wondering if the plea had been more out of his consciousness than in it.

He looked again at the Kelownan's sleepless face; they would have to tread carefully.

"And when Ba'al realises you do not mean to uphold your end of this bargain?" The Jaffa said finally.

Jonas looked up and gave a small smile, "we'll cross that stream when we come to it."

"I believe the correct word is _bridge_." The Jaffa corrected with a hint of mirth.

The young man's face lightened into a grin, "see, what would I do without you?" He remarked.

The Jaffa bowed his head.


	22. Freedom

**Chapter 22  
FREEDOM **

**Artist: Wonder Stuff ****  
****Song: Welcome To The Cheap Seats ****  
**  
Laugh when he jokes, slap him when he chokes.  
It's time to give up the smokes.  
And ohh when he cries don't wipe his eyes,  
take the wine from the swine,  
and remind him of his crimes.  
Ohh in another world...  
yeah he could wear a dress.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jonas sat in the, plush, upholstered chair trying to remain composed; he'd been detained for over an hour. Two City Guards watched him faithfully; one perched on the desk in front of him, the other's bulk leaned against the carved oak door. They had not spoken since they had 'prised' him away from the Jaffa escorting him through the Parliamentary Building to the Science Complex. Every now and again he caught a glimpse of his escort's shadow as he paced beyond the closed door.

He looked around him at the familiar layout of the Ministerial Offices, it had not changed much since that day Dreylock appointed him to oversee the enquiry into the Andari Massacre; then he had been an ambassador, now he was back as a prisoner.

The stolid guard in front of him was checking his side arm with all the proficiency of a seasoned professional. He looked down at the young man's gloved hand. "They say you had an accident with the Naquadria you stole from this facility, too bad," he sneered, one eye looking at Jonas through an empty chamber. The young man remained silent, shifting uneasily at the other man's scrutiny.

The guard shrugged and turned the gun towards himself and blew on the firing pin. "For luck," he explained in a toneless voice, spinning the cylinder as he closed it back into place.

He looked again at Jonas, his eyes blazing with hostility and aimed the gun at the young man's knee. His finger rested lightly on the trigger and without hesitation he pulled it back. There was a sharp click as the hammer found the empty chamber; Jonas didn't flinch. The Guard at the door gave a grunt of amusement but both uniformed men were disappointed that their prisoner had not reacted.

An inner door opened and a smaller man entered the room. The two guards stiffened immediately and Jonas directed his gaze toward the newcomer; this was Supreme Commander Ravel.

The man had altered; Jonas had only met him a few times before but he could sense a change in Ravel more than see it. The animosity he had been aware of in those early meetings now scorched the Commander's soul, fuelled by the expanse of his power. He was burning in hatred and loathing and it had consumed his rationality, making him unstable. He hid it well from his subordinates but Jonas could see the volatile sparks of his madness singeing the air in flashes of purple and red.

He met Ravel's unblinking stare, the older man's pale, green, eyes held nothing but cruelty and corruption. "I believe this office hasn't changed since your last _visit_ to Kelowna," the Commander stated brusquely, sitting behind the desk. "Expect for the painting."

Jonas turned his head slightly so he could view the large canvass that covered the side wall. Stick men, painted in shadow, walking out of an unlit chasm into the light of the sun.

"The Commander asked you a question," Jonas felt the butt of a gun connect with his right shoulder; he pitched forward, gripping the top of his arm.

The guard who had aimed the same weapon at him earlier stood over him, grinning eagerly. He bent down and hauled Jonas roughly back into his chair, squeezing his fingers into the bruised flesh.

Ravel walked across the room to the painting, touching it tenderly with his fingertips. "Freedom by Tuathail Nolan. Do you know what it depicts?" The Commander's wild eyes narrowed.

Again he felt the tightening of the guard's grasp. "The release of Kelownan prisoners from the Tiranian camp known as The Hole," Jonas answered through gritted teeth.

The Commander nodded, "it invokes a patriotism don't you think?" He stepped back to view the artwork in its entirety.

Jonas closed his eyes before letting the conviction of his words push at Ravel's self-control. "It reminds us why our nations should work together to make sure that such atrocities remain in the past. Kelownan history is not guiltless either. There have been many unforgivable acts carried out in the name of war by our own forefathers on both the Andari and T…." A fist slammed into the side of Jonas' face, before he had chance to finish his sentence.

He cradled his cheek as Ravel looked down on him; the Commander's mottled skin exposed in the harsh light. "Spoken like a politician who has never known war." He gestured to the Guard who stood behind Jonas. "Sergeant Innis' father died in that Tiranian death camp three days before it was liberated; he cannot forgive his father's murders and neither should any true Kelownan. The Andari and Tiranians are inferior scum, peasants who are governed by old religion and superstition, believing in the sanctimonious writings of their bloodthirsty prophets. They have no family values and care little for literature and art, while science and technology is beyond the scope of their reasoning."

Ravel bent closer to Jonas, the rancid fervour of his words souring the air. "And these are the people you wish civilized Kelownans to welcome into their homes? They would be wiping their arses with our books and sacrificing our children so that the rain would fall."

The large guard at the door nodded his agreement with this and gave another snort.

Jonas met the Commander's expressive gaze, "they are not religious zealots," he stated calmly, "it is us who have twisted their beliefs and ideals to fuel our own agendas through centuries of warfare. They are no different from us. We are, after all, the same race, brought from Earth to Langaria to become slaves to the Goa'uld." These were dangerous words but the truth often is.

Jonas could feel the rise of Ravel's anger as it convulsed through the older man's body in uncontrollable spasms. The two guards were primed, waiting for Ravel's order but the Commander turned his back, fisting his rage.

"Against my better judgment Ba'al has persuaded me of your worth to the Naquadria Project." He did not look round but the coldness in his voice pierced Jonas' soul. "So, for now, you are more valuable to me alive."

Ravel paused, taking his time to navigate round the desk. He sat down and Jonas felt the brunt of his displeasure as it channel through his caustic gaze. "But do not let that lead you to believe that I will forget your treacherous words here today and the disloyalty you have shown to the good people of Kelowna. For when the time comes, and you've outlasted your usefulness to your Goa'uld master, I will make you pay for your treason to this State."

He signalled to Innis. "Give him back to his escort but make sure you stay with him at all times."

The Sergeant saluted and forced Jonas to his feet by knocking the chair out from under him.

* * *

A silence greeted him when he entered the Science Complex. Young men, pondering equations on a whiteboard, suddenly stopped their animated discussions to watch as Jonas walked through the room. None of them were daring enough to look him in the eye.

A tall blonde woman strode briskly from an inner office to address them, "I am Kianna Cyr, head of this development." She said abruptly.

Her eyes fell on Jonas, he gave a small smile, "Jonas Quinn, but I guess you knew that already."

She exchanged glances with both the Jaffa and Innis but spoke only to their prisoner, "come with me, a work-place has been set up for you in my office."

Kianna turned back towards the room she had emerged from. Jonas went to follow but the Sergeant held him back.

"The Supreme Commander has ordered that the prisoner be segregated from the other scientist." She stated with annoyance, gesturing toward the office. "As this is the only secure space I have within this unit that is close to all other key areas of operations I believe it is best suited for that purpose. This doorway is the only way in or out of the office and as you can see, it has no windows so there will be no opportunity for escape."

Kianna glared at Innis who still had a tight grip on Jonas, "unless you wish to question The Supreme Commander's orders I suggest you let go of the prisoner so we can both get on with our work here."

The Sergeant took a moment before pushing Jonas towards the open office door, which Kianna shut forcefully on the two guards.

"Thank you, I think," the young man offered when they were alone.

Kianna took no notice but gestured to a workbench, "this is where you will sit," she said impatiently, crossing her arms.

Jonas raised his eyebrows and made his way to a hard-backed, wooden chair nestled under 'his' workspace. Kianna waited while he sat down before tossing a sizeable, fan-folded, readout soundly in front of him.

"You will work on this printout," she commanded tersely. "For many months now we have been experimenting on using the Naquadria in the development of shields."

Jonas looked from the printout to Kianna and then back again, "really?" He voiced with unexpected interest, flicking through the sheets of computer generated data.

Again she ignored his remark. "We ran a small simulation, as you can see," she flicked through the report to the relevant page, "a protective dome was produce for a period of 2.03 minutes before the test subject was completely incinerated."

"Test subject?"

"A plant," she replied dispassionately. "I've highlighted the pertinent sections where I believe your input would be most beneficial."

She leaned over Jonas once more to identify the information he needed to analysis, brushing his arm with her own.

Jonas immediately felt her duplicity, like a soft whisper playing with the hairs on his skin.

Kianna sensed his scrutiny. "Ba'al has informed you he has an operative working here?"

Jonas nodded as her eyes glowed, "then I suggest you get on with the task before you so your Shol'va does not suffer any more withdrawal symptoms."

The young man watched her stride back to her own desk conscious she was hiding much more.

* * *

The force field dropped Teal'c from the wall as Jonas was thrown into their cell. The young man slid onto his haunches, clearly exhausted, rolling his shoulder to try and ease the pain. The Jaffa knelt beside him offering Jonas his refilled canteen. "I expected you earlier," Teal'c remarked looking the Kelownan over for signs of abuse.

Jonas gave a wry smile that lifted his eyebrows. "Yeah, I had to give Ba'al a detailed report on how the Naquadria project is progressing." He lowered his head to rub his forehead.

Teal'c touched the young man's bruised and swollen cheek. "Ravel and I had some catching up to do," he explained ironically.

"And your shoulder?" The Jaffa's gaze held the young man's own.

Jonas shrugged awkwardly, "there was a difference of opinion," he stated.

Teal'c nodded and moved away, "you should get some rest, Jonas Quinn," he recommend.

The young man sat supported by the wall making no move to lie down, his gaze transfixed on the opposite side of the cell. "Teal'c, they're working on, on shield technology down there." There was a renewed excitement in the Kelownan's voice that the Jaffa had missed of late.

Jonas turned his head to his colleague, "they're not far off either," he expressed with enthusiasm. "I think I can help develop the Naquadria so it can be use as a viable energy source to power a shield."

He paused, shifting his weight forward as he gauged the other man's reaction. "Just think what this sort of technology would mean to the SGC and our allies," he reasoned, looking for some sort of approval.

Teal'c closed his eyes. Ba'al was indeed devious. Jonas turned back to the other wall. "I need to do this Teal'c," he said sincerely, "it was why I came to Earth, it was how this all started; I need to finish it."

The Jaffa drew breath, "even if it means aiding the Goa'uld?" It was said with an honest intent.

The young man shook his head, "it won't come to that, Teal'c, I promise."

Teal'c nodded slowly but his heart wasn't swayed. "Get some rest Jonas Quinn," he replied, rolling over onto his side.


	23. Ashoreth

_The young man looked into the boy's forlorn eyes and removed the gold ring from his finger, "here take this and hold it for a while in the heat of your hand."_

_Jonas did as he was told and squashed the onyx and gold band in his small fist. "Now open your hand and take a look at the image on the front."_

_Jonas unclenched the ball of his hand and watched the emblem change, from that of a compass to a tree, "wow."_

"_That's the Coll, an ancient Kelownan symbol for the hazelnut tree, the tree of knowledge. It represents hidden wisdom, learning, truth and honesty. There are a few of us out there who believe in these values and believe we can change this administration for the better. We're not great statesmen or revolutionaries, we're academics who believe that slowly we can change this planet for the good of all those who live on it." **Humming Bird.**_

_

* * *

_

_Over the sea and far away  
She's waiting like an iceberg  
Waiting to change  
But she's cold inside  
She wants to be like the water _

_All the muscles tighten in her face  
Buries her soul in one embrace  
They're one and the same  
Just like water - _**Kt Tunstall - Other Side Of The World**_  
_

* * *

Jack entered the flight deck of the tel'tak and sat down heavily in the command chair, squashing a bag of chips he had concealed in his back pant pocket. Hael, the olived skin Tok'ra who was accompanying SG1 on this mission, glowered at him for occupying the seat he had just vacated. Jack seemed unaware of the other man's hostility, instead directed his gaze at his team mates. "Are we there yet?" He enquired, crossing his legs.

Sam looked up from the console she was studying with Daniel and smiled. "No, Sir, it'll take another two days."

Jack shook his head. "See, that's the problem when you book economy class." He shifted in his seat so he could retrieve the chips.

Jacob took his hand from the globe to look back at O'Neill but it was Hael who took the bait. "Economy class?" He asked brusquely.

"Yeah," the Colonel answered, rustling the packet in an attempt to open it, "used to travelling Asgard Air, you know their motto? We'll get you there in a blink of an eye." He popped open the snack and gave Hael a fixed smile. "Chip?"

The Tok'ra dismissed O'Neill's offer with a snort and strode off into the cargo hold. Jacob smiled and shook his head slightly, returning his attention back to the flight console to make some adjustments. "Jack, when we reach Ba'al's ship I would like Daniel to remain on board with me." He turned his focus back to O'Neill while the Colonel sat back in his chair and raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"It would be remiss of us if we didn't take this opportunity to download as much data as we can from Ba'al's computer core…"

"Before we blow him to hell," Jack added.

The older Carter nodded. "Hael will plant a hacking device when he boards the Ha'tak." He returned his attention to the craft's navigation once more, "and while I pilot the ship, Daniel can monitor the download and access their key operational systems in order to direct you and Hael from here."

"Sounds like a plan," the Colonel stated. "I know you guys like to dot all your I's and all but how can you be sure Ba'al's still orbiting Kelowna? I mean, he's the big guy on campus now, with the keys to all the wonders of the universe, so why hang around?"

"I don't know, Jack, but he is," Jacob answered. "Before S'hang was captured he managed to place a tracking device on the Ha'tak…"

"And there was no way Ba'al could have found it?" O'Neill posed holding the General's gaze.

"It was set to self-destruct if it was tampered with," Jacob informed him.

"So, you're still picking up a signal around Kelowna," Jack said, biting into a chip.

"Yeah, Jack, we've crossed all the T's on this one."

"I would expect nothing less Jacob," O'Neill replied relaxing back in the seat.

---------------------------------------------

Ashtoreth stood in the dappled light of the chamber. She was alone, her thoughts brooding as she awaited Ba'al. The door slid open with its customary whisper and Cassandra breezed into the room, brushing past the tall blonde.

Confusion touched the Goa'uld's angular features before she could obscure it from the younger woman's scrutiny. "I thought my Lord sent for me," she stated with aloofness.

Cassandra turned her attention to the chess set in the centre of the room. She brushed a finger around the edge of the board, "he's busy," she replied picking up the white rook.

"So he sent you?" Ashtoreth said with a hint of scepticism.

Cassie placed the piece back down on the board and looked over her shoulder, giving the older woman a cheap smile. "No," she challenged, turning towards the Goa'uld with an air of superiority.

Astoreth met her stare as the young woman's eyes darkened, pulling her consciousness into their demonic pool. Cassie advanced across the spread of muted floor tiles to grasp the other woman's exposed arm with a waxen hand. The room around them imploded into the shadows as that one icy touch evoked a multitude of dormant memories within the Goa'uld.

Astoreth's mind stumbled into the dark reaches of splintered recollection that danced pretentiously on her soul, drenching her body with pain. She tried to breathe but the bloom of her heart was withering in this fetid place of nightmares where oblivion waited to drown her in its silt. She was stuck, wedged between life and death, pain and certain torment.

Others came to watch her struggle their curious eyes hidden behind crude papier-mâché mask. They whispered, taunting and jeering, the mephitic stench of their breath unbearable as they moved closer to examine this objet d'art. She tried to get away from the press of their expressionless faces but her body was fixed, impaled in an ante-room of hell. She let out a panic-stricken cry that was lost in the laughter from the unsmiling masks as they toasted her failing health and short life.

"Ah, so you remember," Cassie stated releasing her hold.

Astoreth remained silent, rubbing the defiled arm. "You remember your time spent in the underworld awaiting Ba'al's pleasure and the call of the sarcophagus." Cassie reiterated with an even colder smile. "Then you know whom I serve?" The question was rhetorical.

She walked back to the chess board and picked up the white bishop. She held it up to her eyelevel and turned it nimbly in her grasp. "Has Ba'al summoned you here to seduce Jonas Quinn, after all, that _is_ your speciality?" Cassie added looking from the piece to the older woman.

"That is between myself and my Lord," the Goa'uld spat, her eyes blazing with light.

Cassandra gave a scornful laugh, brushing the bishop across her bloodless lips before replacing it. "It amazes me you're still loyal to him after all he has done to you?"

"He is my brother and therefore demands my loyalty," Asthoreth answered.

Cassandra raised a pale eyebrow and moved closer to the other woman, staying close to her ear. "Come now, he is much more than that." Her gaze lingered in anticipation; Astoreth looked away.

Cassie carried on undeterred, smiling as she spoke. "You love him," she stated in mock admiration, "but not as a sister would."

She moved round to the other ear. "It is the only reason I can think of as to why you let him use you as he does, to prostitute yourself to ensnare his enemies." Her words were unfeeling.

The Goa'uld remained firm, displaying no emotion, keeping her eyes fixed ahead. Cassandra continued, walking slowly around the other woman to meet her gaze. "And while you sully yourself in your _brother's_ name he dallies with his pretty boys. I wonder if that's why you've chosen such a masculine host this time." She looked Kianna over with a wry smile, holding out her hand to lift the Goa'uld's chin. Ashtoreth turned her head away from the icy touch.

Cassie shook her head and gave a heartless laugh. "You are a fool," she sneered, leaning closer to the other woman. "He holds your heart on a string and dangles it near his lips, feigning to kiss it and you wait, hoping that when that kiss comes it will make you clean. It will not. He has taken your love and crucified it for his own gains."

She took a step back and gave Ashtoreth a polished smile full of contempt. "I thought I was the only living corpse here but when I look into your eyes, I see I'm not. You have no life, you are a body without a soul, a heart without love, just an empty old whore who will never know the purity of a kiss given without consequence," Cassie shook her head once more.

"Have you come to lecture me on love?" There was a dignity in the Goau'ld's voice that riled the younger woman.

"No," she answered sweetly, "my master has sent me with an offer."

Ashtoreth remained poised when Cassandra smiled and commanded, "you are to leave Jonas Quinn alone."

"And the offer?" The Goa'uld's deep voice carried.

"Leave Jonas Quinn alone and my master will give you what you want most."

Astoreth raised her eyebrows in question; Cassandra tilted her head, "Ba'al's heart," she volunteered, with a diminutive laugh.

Astoreth walked back along the corridor her emotions mixed but she allowed herself one small smile. 'The darkness may think that it owns her but it does not know her.'

--------------------------------------

Jonas studied the printout one more time convinced of his findings. He looked up at Kianna's vacant chair and the antiquated processor that sat on the desk. He turned his attention towards the locked door for a moment and then got up from his seat. He moved quickly to the empty desk and hit a key to initiate the inactive screen. His fingers darted across the expanse of the Kelownan keyboard, accessing the file relating to the shield simulation. The data matched what was on the printout.

He rubbed his face and pulled the block of music ruled listing from his desk to review his pencilled notes. He was sure the formula for the simulation had been adjusted to fail. To the untrained eye it was a minute variant, but to Jonas' practised mind the error was too deliberate. Therefore making the experiment contrived, providing a false result.

He settled back in the chair and rested his index finger above his lip in thought. Kianna was sabotaging the simulations. He bit down on his thumb nail, he had no idea why she would do this but he had a feeling she would keep a record of the unaltered formula.

He looked at the list of files displayed on the screen, each was methodically numbered and coded, to work his way through them all would take days.

He sighed, sitting up straight, stretching out his back, his fingers pulling at the chain around his neck, so that the onyx ring became visible. The links snapped and the ring fell onto the keyboard. A slight breeze whispered passed him in a familiar voice, "Fate and fortune, Jonas Quinn."

He turned his head recognizing the soft mixture of floral notes that coasted passed the desk. "First Minister Dreylock?" He spoke into the cool air, sensing her fleeting presence call to him; the room remained still.

He turned back to the processor and retrieved his ring from the hard metal keyboard. He rubbed the soft gold with his thumb, the warmth of his touch revealing the Hazelnut tree concealed on the onyx.

He looked up from the ring back to the files his intuition pricking. Buried within the group was an inconspicuous report labelled with a set of Kelownan numbers and symbols that spelt out the word Coll. Could it really be that easy? He looked around the room sensing the warmth of an unseen smile; he found himself smiling back.

Jonas accessed the file, his astute mind consuming the information it held. He reached across the desk and pulled the printout to him once more, sending several reams to the floor as he recalibrating the data with his well chewed pencil. He worked quickly, erasing any mistakes with his index finger, his enthusiasm blinding him to the flow of time. As he entered each new variant he became aware that the basis for the Naquadria shield was viable, that Kianna was close to making it work; his heart leapt.

Jonas was so engrossed he did not hear the door close. "Have you found something of interest Jonas Quinn?" Kianna's voice demanded.

The young man looked up, answering her question with one of his own. "Why are keeping your true findings from Ba'al?"

They locked eyes, it was a stalemate; the Goa'uld was the first to speak. "I am aiding the rebels," she replied without emotion.

Jonas frowned and shook his head. "Why should I believe you?" He asked, his gaze never leaving hers.

Kianna gave a small snort and pulled something from her pocket, tossing it to him. "Do you recognise this?" She asked harshly.

The young man inspected what she had thrown; it was a ring, a duplicate of his own. He looked to her again, "this means nothing, Ba'al could have given you this to test me," he said unconvinced.

She moved closer to the young man, resting her hands on the desk. "That ring was given to me by General Wolf; he requested that I pass it onto you once I had gained your trust. Now seems as good a time as any."

Jonas was still suspicious. Kianna remained indignant, curling her hand around his that held the ring. "Why not use your abilities to see if I am telling the truth?" She challenged, her eyes flaring.

Jonas looked down at their joint grasp and snatched his hand free. He silently pulled at the glove while watching the Goa'uld closely. He placed the ring in his palm and covered it with his fingers, hiding his hand under the table in case of detection. Kianna looked on scornfully as she waited, crossing her arms about her. The young man closed his eyes and tilted his head back as images gathered from the ring flashed in his mind.

After a short while he opened his eyes and placed the band on the desk. "It only proves this ring once belonged to him," he stated, cautiously.

Kianna raised her eyebrows, "and I was told you were much more gullible," she replied tersely.

"You were clearly misinformed," Jonas answered, holding her gaze.

The Goa'uld smiled only this time a warmth played with her lips as her eyes sparked with light. "Indeed I was," she replied, grabbing his exposed wrist and placing his hand to her chest. "Now tell me what you see." She demanded.

Jonas inhaled as he fell into the empty chasm of her soul, feeling the turmoil which ripped like a storm through her being. He sensed the silent scream of the host but that was overshadowed by the loneliness and the scarred sadness of the Goa'uld. He pulled away unable to hide the pity in his eyes.

Ashtoreth placed her own hand to her chest to touch his warmth. For a moment she felt something she had never known, something that was more than heat, something she wished she could understand, something she wanted to hold onto. She looked toward the young man quashing her emotions. "Do not waste your pity on me," she said coldly, "I only need to know I have your trust."

Jonas grabbed her fleeting hand, "and I need to know why."

She hesitated, looking down at their joined hands, "from your own lips," the young man continued, feeling her pulse jump with his own.

"To be free," she finally hissed in his ear.

Jonas let his hand drop and nodded, "then you have my trust for the time being, Ashtoreth," he added, reaching for his discarded glove.

_Ashtoreth_, it was the first time she had heard her true name spoken without the snarl of contempt; the Goa'uld nodded her own agreement.

The door burst open and Sergeant Innis stood in the opening grinning. Ashtoreth turned towards him, blocking Jonas from the guard's view so he put the glove discreetly back on his hand.

"Your presence is required in the courtyard," Innis informed them both with a smug air.


	24. Chufa

Chapter 24

**Chufa**

_Jonas turned to look at the speaker, "Ambassador Quinn, I am Colonel Milo Chufa of the 'disbanded' Kelowna Delta Militia," he held his hand out so Jonas could glimpse the gold and onyx band in the headlights. "My unit and I have been sent to escort you safely to our base and your contact there," he spoke quickly and was clearly irritated at having to explain himself._

_Jonas looked back at Hawks, who was still hanging on to life, "we can't just leave him."_

_The Colonel signalled to another man who was half hidden in the shadows, a second slug thumped through the night air and buried itself into Hawks' cranium; Hawks became still._

_Jonas looked at Chufa in disbelief but the older man spoke first, his tone stern, "we're at war, Fboy, this isn't some game, there is no time for misplaced sentiment. Do you think either of these, these carrion, would have shown you any mercy? They were going to kill you and they would have enjoyed doing it." He looked at the limp bodies dangling on the ropes, "save your protests for those who need it, the innocents caught in this vast web of political intrigue, they are more deserving, now please, we must get moving." **Humming Bird.**_

--------------------------------

**Warning character death**

Hot town, summer in the city  
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty   
Been down, isn't it a pity  
Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city - LOVIN SPOONFUL

-----------------------------------

The angry sun had reached its zenith, seething down at the crowd packed into the small courtyard. Kelownan summers had once been a peaceful affair often with a cooling breeze to compliment the heat; but _the bomb_ had changed all that. Now the sun was the master of the season, burning off any cloud or calming zephyr as retribution for Kelownan's crime against nature. Even the storms, which at one time freshened the landscape, now raged against man's stupidity, preaching from heaven's podium with fire and torrents of damnation.

The sweltering mass parted as Innis pushed Jonas to the front, Kianna following closely in their wake. Several individuals jostled him as he passed, causing the young man to stumble forward into the loose dirt. A few callous faces jeered at his predicament as Innis hauled him to his feet and directed Jonas forward once more.

The Sergeant gripped his shoulder, stopping him when their small party reached the edge of the gathering. Innis openly grinned as the young man winced under his hold and turned his prisoner's attention to the spectacle in front of him. Jonas swallowed. A man was buried waist high in the hard earth, his hands bound behind his back, his chin hung on his chest, trying to shield himself from the inhospitable sun.

The crowd surged forward, fuelled by those who berated the bound man in a constant barrage of vilifying abuse. Jonas watched as the old man's white head laboriously began to rise from its resting place, surveying the assembled press of Kelownans. The crowd fell silent, for a moment, the only noise a faint flutter of a rooftop flag caught in the cautious edge of a Sirocco breeze.

The upturned face bore a gruelling timeline of discoloured bruises from the interrogation the man had received in the soundless depths of The Palatine. The prisoner's oval, brown, eyes slowly viewed the incensed mob, his gaze resting on Jonas. He smiled, "sheep," he retorted gruffly and Jonas felt himself nod in agreement. The old man laughed causing him to cough violently.

The crowd started their torrent of insults again and Jonas took a desperate step forward in a bid to aid the prisoner. "Colonel Chufa," he cried in recognition.

Innis pulled him back and met the young man's gaze with a sadistic smile. "This is the punishment for_ all_ Kelownan traitors," he said with perverse pleasure. "Ravel wanted you to have a ringside seat so you could really enjoy the show. If you have a faith, Jonas Quinn, save your prayers for yourself, as I hope the old bugger lasts for a good hour, I've got money riding on it." Innis laughed and crossed his arms about his chest, his eyes glittering with both greed and cruelty.

Jonas shot the Goa'uld a sideways glance as she stepped to his shoulder; Kianna shook her head, "I had no knowledge of this," she whispered, her gaze burning with sincerity.

The young man turned back to the Colonel as Innis came between them, directing his question to Kianna. "Have you ever witnessed a public execution before?"

"No," she replied guardedly.

"Then you're in for a real treat," he continued, focusing on Jonas. "We don't waste bullets on traitors; there are other, more effective ways of dealing with those who betray us."

He bent down and picked up a rounded stone from the ground. "Maybe, before the day is out, you will get a chance to further prove your loyalty to the Supreme Government," Innis coerced, looking from Kianna to Jonas.

"I did not know it was in question," Kianna answered, her stare challenging the other man's.

The Sergeant gave her a crooked smile and glanced to a balcony that overlooked the courtyard. "The Commander expects _all_ those gathered do their duty for the glory of the State." He handed her the stone and raised his eyebrows; the Goa'uld turned her gaze to the palm sized pebble.

Jonas pressed his hand into a fist, tensing his whole body. Kianna looked up and touched his arm. "There is nothing you can do," she hissed softly to avoid being overheard. "Even your powers have a limit. Do you think you can take on all those here?"

Jonas looked at her, the thick heat like a second skin scouring his back as he inwardly crumpled. He held eye contact a second longer before despair washed over his face and he looked away, knowing there was nothing he could do.

An ancient woman was forcefully led forward by another guard, her twisted legs hardly supporting her fragile frame as her feet dragged against the hard earth. She was made to stand before a crude line scratched in the dirt and a pebble was placed into her palm, the weight of which seemed to pull at her soul. She turned to face Chufa, her profile resembling his own and Jonas sensed her misery snag against his own chest. The guard strongly gripped the old woman's brittle wrist and made her pitched the stone forward at the prisoner. The crowd cheered as the projectile drew first blood, while the old lady buried her head in her hands and began to weep.

Others queued, family, friends, colleagues, all compelled into doing their duty to slowly kill a man for the enjoyment of the braying mob and the vanity of the State. Some threw without remorse, others reluctantly but each tried to hit their mark for fear of reprisals.

An hour dragged by, the Colonel suffering with each barbarous second, waiting for death to release him from this black and bloody torment. Jonas felt the sting of every strike pinch at his skin and slice through his soul as the prisoner was continually pelted in the heat of the sun. He swiped a palm over forehead, unable to untangle his senses from the intense anguish of Chufa and the passionate delight of the cheering crowd.

Jonas looked up, against the glint of the sun, towards the balcony as Ravel stepped out to oversee the proceedings. The shouts of the mob calmed as the Commander held his arms out and began to address the multitude like a preacher declaiming from the pulpit.

His voice resonated off the surrounding buildings making him sound almost godlike and irrefutable. "This man who is bound before you was once a true son of Kelowna. He fought along side your fathers and your brothers, carrying our flag upon his chest and destroying our enemies to give Kelowna its ascendancy. Good citizens, you know I too am a man of war, that I have fought many battles, some along side this very man, which is why I find his betrayal so hard to stomach."

There was a wave of agreement from the crowd. Ravel continued. "This is a new era for our people, one where we must come together and crush, not only our long-standing enemies, but the cancer which prevails within our society who believe we can unite with these backward and brutal nations. As you know this man holds such a belief. He and his kind wish to undermine our rise to power that has too often been quashed by weak leaders who have indulged the Tiranians and Andari in futile peace attempts." A few people let out jaded snorts of bewilderment.

"Well I am not a weak leader because I am a Kelownan and I know we are not a weak people! We are the chosen and we will smite all those who stand in our way." He brought his fist down on his overturned palm, motivating those gathered to erupt in elated cries of 'Ravel'.

The Commander held his hands up in acknowledgement feasting on the admiration. The shouts died down as Ravel stepped forward, positioning himself in front of a Kelownan flag which was hung over the balcony. "Good people," he began gently, "you know as your leader it wounds me to see our great nation defiled by such men as this." He gestured to Chufa, shaking his head, "but the soldier in me begs that some clemency be shown in recognition of this man's past service to this flag that he now turns his back on."

There were a few shouts of 'no' that, again, rebounded off the enclosed space. Ravel accepted their cries with a well rehearsed nod, "I leave the decision to you." He spun slowly round, so all could see his face. "Perhaps one among his family and friends will step forward and put a quick end to the Colonel's punishment?"

The question slapped the down turned faces of those who had metered out Kelownan retribution, while all eyes eagerly watched the line. None would volunteer for fear of showing themselves to be disloyal to the State.

"No?" Ravel asked again, an unholy smile hiding on his lips.

The silence waited like a dark spectre haunting those gathered, while the flag above their heads saluted the heat of the breeze. Time turned to dust at their feet as the invidious sun's strong arms melted the shadows it had created. Jonas felt the moment steal past as the Commander smiled at him with empty eyes.

Ravel inched forward, resting his broad hands on the crimson material. "Maybe it takes a traitor to kill another traitor." He nodded in the direction of the young man, his words like a fine edge sword. "Or will the former Ambassador let his comrade endure further punishment and not dirty his hands like all politicians."

Contemptuous laughter ricochet like an assortment of ammunition as Innis placed a loaded gun in Jonas' hand. "Just the one bullet, _Ambassador,_" the sergeant sneered. "So don't get any ideas."

Jonas fumbled the sidearm; it slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. "You do know how to use a gun, don't you?" Innis taunted as the crowd around them scoffed.

The sergeant bent down and retrieved the weapon, placing it dramatically in Jonas' hand once more; the young man was pushed forward toward the prisoner.

Chufa looked at him, his left eye clogged and hollow, his right a bloody mix of fortitude and pain. He compressed his inflamed lips into a grimace of a smile. "Best get this over with, boy, unless you have some kind of parlour trick up that sleeve of yours." His voice trembled with blood as he indicated to the young man's gloved hand; Jonas shook his head.

"Oh well," he said solemnly, spitting on the ground, "make it clean, I think I've suffered enough today." Another smile tugged awkwardly at the fleshy mess of his mouth.

Jonas looked at the other man, his face grave. "I don't know if I can do this," he said, biting into his bottom lip.

The Colonel closed his eye for a moment and nodded, his breathing becoming more and more fitful. "Look at them, boy, look at them." A cough hacked through his chest.

Jonas glanced at a thousand sets of eyes all trained upon their torturous montage. "They think they have the mark of you. They think you are both a traitor and a coward, I know you are neither. Be my right hand, boy and finish this now, I think I've earned a quick death." He blinked against the sunlight and met Jonas' gaze again. "Let my mother have some peace," he said quietly, "end my suffering and hers."

The young man swiped the back of his hand across the blush of face that had been tempered by the heat. He lifted the gun, the warm metal tainting his grasp as he levelled it, cradling his wrist.

Chufa directed his gaze to the balcony, a determination inspiring his words. "For every tree that is felled another grows in its place…" He nodded towards the young man.

Jonas felt his finger slip against the trigger as he bit down on his lip once more "…So the knowledge is passed through the generations in the roots and seeds laid down in the soil." He finished, his voice never wavering.

A shot then punctured the ensuing silence.

--------------------------------

Thank you for staying with me xxx

Next it's Cassandra and Morgan……


	25. Polished Ebony

A big thanks to CT and SR for all their help with this story – you rock guys xxx

* * *

Cassie lay back on her bed. She watched the light run along the polish of the ebony dagger as she playfully turned it in her grasp. The door of her chamber opened and Morgan stomped through, his cologne thickening the air with the scent of ripe, wild berries and a hint of sandalwood.

He threw himself with ease onto the bed and rolled over onto his stomach, placing his chin in his hands. Cassie sat up to rest against the bolstered pillows. Morgan eyed the slender weapon. "What's this, a new toy?"

Cassie's lips widened into a smile and she beckoned the young man forward with the knife. Morgan returned the grin and crawled towards her to acquire the dagger. Cassie placed it in his hand and let him lie back on her chest as he fondled the knife. She combed her fingers through his hair. "It's a present," she whispered, winding one of his curls.

Morgan moved his head back to look at her. "For whom?" He posed.

Cassie stopped her administrations. "For you, my dear brother, if it can be of use."

Morgan scowled for a moment in contemplation then he turned his attention back to the dagger. He smirked, "it is indeed an elegant toy but I think it too small to be an advantageous weapon." He let it swing dismissively as he held the handle between his thumb and forefinger.

Cassie snatched the gift from him and pushed herself off the bed, sending Morgan from her bosom. He sat up, bemused.

"The hour is late, I thought you would be with Ba'al," she said abruptly, turning away from him.

"He's busy," came the sulky reply as Morgan inspected the buff of his nails.

Cassandra smiled, "he seems to be preoccupied a lot lately." She faced him once more and sat on the bed. "Surely he has a few moments to spare for his Hok'tar?"

The young man sighed and waved the question away with a grandiose gesture. "He's preoccupied with Quinn." There was just a hint of jealously in his voice; it was all she needed.

"Yes, Ba'al has been spending a lot of his time with Jonas," she twisted the knife in her grasp.

"They play chess," Morgan remarked offhandedly and sat back against the array of pillows.

She watched as he transferred his weight in a bid to get comfortable. Cassie rolled over onto her side to join him. "He used to play chess with you." She purred, picking at the silk of his capped-sleeved tunic.

The young man parried her comment with an indifferent shrug, pulling away but she could read the envy in his soul. She drew her legs up and embraced them, resting her head on her knees. "I hear Jonas is a skilful opponent," she stressed, her eyebrow arched, "and that Ba'al looks forward to these _games._ You should be careful, _my brother, _for Ba'al has become quite infatuated with his _new_ prisoner." She sat up to make eye contact.

Morgan's face flushed, his eyes narrowed. "The only games my Lord's playing is with Quinn's mind." He thrust his hand to her neck and encircled it, pressing passionately on her larynx. "You should be careful what gossip you spread or I may silence that acid tongue of yours for good."

Cassie kept her focus on the Hok'tar. "Are you so sure it's not the other way round?" She reasoned.

Morgan loosened his grip. "What do you mean?"

Cassie smiled. "Jonas is a devious adversary, my dear, and I have been sensing a duplicity in the connection we still share. While Ba'al may think he's in control, I warn you, he's the one being played."

Morgan let go of her neck, searching her face for some understanding; she smiled inwardly. "Oh, I know you find it implausible but believe me, Jonas is playing the _innocent_ to manipulate your master for **his** own ends. Why do you think he hasn't been punished for his betrayal of you? Haven't you petitioned Ba'al time and time again for some recompense for the horrors of your childhood? Do you think your master would deny you your pound of flesh if he was not so…" She paused, "…so _captivated_?"

She could feel Morgan's neurons explode in angry thought as he eyed her cautiously. "Why did you not make me aware of this earlier?" His grip tightened again, his manicured nails digging into her dead flesh.

"I underestimated Jonas. I thought the recent attack he suffered at the hands of a Goa'uld had weakened him but I was wrong. He's been using me too by letting me think he was powerless in all of this, when all the time he's been influencing events. I am sorry, my _dear_ brother, I wish I could have warned you sooner but I only became conscious of Jonas' deceit the other day when he let his guard down. He must have thought he was safe from my scrutiny." She added, lowering her gaze; Morgan released her.

"Then my master is in danger, I must go to him and inform him of Quinn's trickery." He hurriedly rose from the bed.

Cassie stopped him. "I do not think that would be wise," she expressed. "Jonas has charmed Ba'al into believing he is honourable and without guile, if you try to expose him your master will think you're acting out of some kind of resentment towards your former classmate."

Morgan paced the room. Cassie stood up and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We must act on this ourselves." She held Morgan's gaze and smiled.

The young man returned an attentive grin. "But how?" He posed, "Quinn cannot be harmed, it would destroy all Ba'al's plans."

She held up the knife, "oh, I only mean to clip his wings a little."

Morgan took the weapon from her and turned it in his grasp again. "It is an ancient blade," she whispered into his ear, "the spell on its hilt will penetrate the magic of a shield and remove it from its host."

"The eye on Quinn's palm," the Kelownan reiterated, looking to the young woman for clarification.

"Yes," Cassie answered breathlessly. "It will only injure that which protects him, leaving him with his ability but exposing him to the emotions of those around him. It will take Jonas a while to adjust, which will take all of his strength and focus…"

"Leaving my master safe from his scheming." Morgan turned the dagger in the light, his eyes wide in fascination.

"I only have your best interests at heart," Cassie offered laying her hand over his.

The Kelownan laughed. "You think I'm that gullible?" He sneered.

She smiled, "no, but I know your best interest are my own," she placated.

He stroked her hair but his eyes never left the blade. "That is very wise,_ my_ Cassandra, very wise indeed."

* * *

Jonas finished reliving the events of Chufa's stoning for Teal'c, his voice barely audible over his own breathing. His forehead sank into his palm, weighed down by guilt and exhaustion. He sat hugging knees, his gaze as empty as his body felt, the silence smothering the two men like the surge of a great wave. 

The Jaffa edged his way across the cell floor and laid a hand on the other man's shoulder as if to stop his fragile soul from drowning in a wash of remorse. Jonas looked up his eyes full of sorrow and shame. "I killed him, Teal'c, I pulled the trigger." The words caught in his throat like barbwire, he swallowed.

Jonas looked down at his hands, his mind deceiving him into seeing them covered in blood; he began to scrub them on his trouser legs. The Jaffa laid his own hands gently over the young man's to stop him. He chose his words carefully, his tone soft. "If you had not pulled the trigger, would not the Colonel's suffering been greater?"

Jonas didn't answer, instead he gripped the material covering his leg, digging his nails into his flesh; Teal'c gently prised the young man's clenched hands free. "Would you have been able to watch his torment knowing you could have ended it?" Teal'c glanced at his stricken friend. "You gave him an honourable death Jonas Quinn. You ended his pain and freed his soul."

The Kelownan looked down at his disloyal hands and tossed his head back against the wall. "Teal'c, I…." His breath hitched for a moment, his soul in torment, he looked away.

Teal'c's comforting grip strengthened, causing Jonas to return the Jaffa gaze. "You are not accountable for his death, it was Ravel's doing."

Jonas shook his head. "I still pulled the trigger," he whispered.

"Yes but it was to save him further torment…"

Before Teal'c could finish his statement both men found themselves thrown against the wall as the cell began to spin.


	26. Cuando amor no es locura, no es amor

**Cuando amor no es locura, no es amor.**  
(When love is not madness, it is not love.)  
Spanish Proverb

Well Baby I've been here before  
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor,  
I used to live alone before I knew you  
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
But love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah (Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley version)

----------------------------------------------------------

Jonas found himself restrained by the invisible strands of the force field and a binding of dark power. Helpless, he watched as Teal'c struggled against the press of the immobilizing field opposite him.

The air became damp. Jonas felt his senses become submerged in a quagmire of envy and malice as Cassandra entered their prison followed by a young man. He took a sharp intake of breath to stop himself from sinking in the strength of their collective emotions. He focused; his gaze settling on the arrogant male's porcelain façade, feeling the true nature of his dark and twisted soul hidden behind his perfect beauty.

He gave Quinn a vacant smile and Jonas instantly recognised the boy inside the man. "Morgan," he stated more for himself than the others, "you're Ba'al's Hok'tar."

Morgan's eyes glistened with hatred. "Yes, are you so surprised?"

Jonas' mind tumbled in relief for a split second. "After they took you, I thought…" He stopped.

"…that I was dead?" The Hok'tar finished with spite. "Well as you can see, I'm very much alive," he spun round, ostentatiously. "Which unfortunately cannot be said for all those who destroyed my childhood; all bar you, Jonas Quinn." A harsh smile pulled at his lips.

Jonas felt the other man's resentment burn through the cohesion of his mind; he let out a muffled cry, his body bowing against the wall. Teal'c wrestled with the force field. "He has suffered enough at your hands." He spat, his voice exploding with rage.

Morgan turned his attention to the Jaffa. "So the hound dog _finally_ bares its teeth," he mocked, sashaying over to Teal'c. "I have to say, I enjoyed cohabiting such a _fine_ body," he purred. "I think, when this is all over, I will keep you as my pet. I will take pleasure in breaking you in."

"You are no different from the master you serve," the Jaffa countered, "you are both parasites, living off the misery of others."

An angry net of light crawled over Teal'c's body, stinging the Jaffa as Morgan berated him for his outburst with energy from his acidic soul. Jonas tried to pull free, looking to Cassie. "This is your doing," he cried in frustration, his efforts exhausting his body.

The young woman levitated over to his position. "I've only just began," she hissed, the dim light warming her waxen skin.

"Leave him alone Cassandra, he has done nothing to you." Jonas pleaded, watching Morgan attack his friend once more.

Cassie caressed his face with her fingertips. "I know, sweetheart, but his pain hurts you." She moved her touch slowly down his chest to rest above his heart; she smiled.

Jonas threw her from him with a blinding pulse causing her to drift to the ground. She let out a snort of amusement. "So, you still have some fight left," she said with a certain amount of respect, lifting off the floor to join him once more.

"I thought _we_ may have broken you with Chufa," she whispered in his ear, planting a kiss on his cheek. "You obviously have more resolve than we thought". Cassie let her lips slide to his mouth.

"I told you before, you will not win." He spoke through the looseness of her kiss.

"Sadly for you, Jonas, we will, no matter how hard you fight us." She cupped his face and gave him a penetrating kiss; Jonas found it base and empty.

She withdrew her tongue. "There is nowhere left for you to go," she baited, "only down."

She bit into the yielding flesh of his bottom lip, reopening the earlier wound, she kitten lapped the blood. "But _we_ will have our fun first." She turned her head to Teal'c as the Jaffa growled in pain, "and I will make sure there is nothing left for you here." She turned back and smiled as she peeled the glove from his hand, licking the eye with her crimson tongue.

"My dear brother," she called to Morgan as she gracefully returned to the floor, "stop toying with the Jaffa or there will be nothing left of him for your enjoyment later."

"Of course," the Hok'tar acknowledged, "it's just, I get _so_ carried away."

"I know," she remarked, placing her hand over Morgan's to join their powers. "But it's time."

The young man smiled and closed his eyes.

Jonas was plucked violently from the wall and thrust through the biting energy of the force field, sucking all the fight from his shattered body. He dangled like a lynched man above their heads, until, with a sweep of her hand, Cassandra sent him cannoning backward.

She turned to Morgan, releasing her hold. "Do it," she cried with mounting excitement.

The Hok'tar bent over the fallen man and grabbed him by the hair to make him stand. His eyes were wide with perverse pleasure, his breath climaxing in his chest with the thrill of conquest as he pulled the dagger from his tunic. He repositioned Jonas against the wall, pushing his head into the grim tiles; the soft thud bringing a smile to the Morgan's lips. He brought the unconscious man's arm up, like a skilled puppeteer, spreading his hand so the palm was visible. He paused, watching the dazed man, willing him back to consciousness so his revenge could be that much sweeter.

The other man's eyes fluttered and Morgan smiled, leaning close to Jonas' ear. "Think of me when your soul is in torment and I will wait with open arms. Come to me Jonas Quinn, let my darkness surround and extinguish your light."

Jonas looked into the Hok'tar's rabid gaze with the realisation the words were not his; they were spoken from a place that split the light at the beginning of time.

Morgan grinned and licked his lips as he pushed the ceremonial dagger into the open _eye_. Jonas let out an anguished cry as the blade cut deep into the flesh and a fountain of light burst from the nucleus of the imprint, bathing the prison in a brilliant light. Morgan continued pushing the dagger, his face contorted in evil pleasure until its tip grated against the tiled wall. An onslaught of unsolicited emotions charged across Jonas' synapse making his mind a fire ball of activity. He clutched his head, unable to protect himself he fell with an agonizing scream to the floor.

Morgan stood over him with the dagger still in his hand, watching it drip with the other man's blood. He looked up at Teal'c and smiled, walking over to the restrained man, he wiped the blade in his trouser leg.

"First blood to me," he rejoiced, the delight echoing in his voice.

The cell buzzed once more and Teal'c found himself liberated as he slid down the wall. "What is going on here?" A voice demanded shaking both Morgan and Cassandra from their enthralment; they looked round.

Ba'al entered the cell having been alerted to the situation by one of his Jaffa. Morgan bowed gracefully. "My Lord," he said feverously, his eyes basking in devotion, "I have saved you." He stood up straight, his manner like a child awaiting a reward.

The Goa'uld looked down at the crumpled form as Teal'c pulled Jonas to his chest and put pressure on the wound. "Saved me?" He reiterated, looking to his Hok'tar.

"Yes," Morgan replied eagerly. "Quinn was using his abilities against you, enticing you with his childlike façade."

The Hok'tar looked to his master who raised an eyebrow. "Was he?" His voice was impassive. "I told you he was not to be harmed." Ba'al growled slightly.

"And he is not my Lord," Morgan maintained with a self-satisfied air. "I have just…" He smiled at Cassandra, "clipped his wings." He toe poked Jonas.

Teal'c snarled at the attack and began to rise but Cassie slapped him back down with a thought.

The Goa'uld hid his emotion well. "Come," he said smoothly wrapping an arm around his Hok'tar's shoulder. "We will talk more of this in my chamber."

Morgan leant into the embrace as Ba'al threw a backward glance at Cassie. "You too," he indicated, with a subtle smile.

The young woman bent over her fallen lover as she exited the cell. "Let the games begin," she exclaimed with significance.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Ba'al held Morgan tight as they entered his chamber, stroking his hair reassuringly. "I told you he was not to be harmed," he reiterated, whispering in the young man's ear.

Morgan nuzzled his master. "He was not my Lord," the Kelownan asserted, "just winded. He will get his full abilities back in time."

The Goa'uld nodded and gently released his Hok'tar, while Cassandra kept to the shadows. Ba'al poured a drink from a large pitcher and offered it to Morgan. The young man took it then toasted his master by holding the glass aloft. The Goa'uld nodded in acknowledgement, pouring his own drink.

"Why did you not come to me with your suspicions?" Ba'al invited softly, taking a seat in his imperious throne.

Morgan lowered his head, uneasily. "We, we thought you would not believe us, you were so far under Quinn's spell," he reasoned, taking a delicate sip.

"So you thought you would act alone, you and your cadaver?" The Goa'uld voice rose slightly as he beckoned his Hok'tar forward, a misleading smile playing on his lips.

"To insure your safety," Morgan reassured his tone deep as he returned Ba'al's smile with a seductive one of his own.

The Goa'uld nodded, "come," he whispered affectionately, keeping his leading hand obscured.

The Hok'tar flaunted his progress towards the throne, basking in the illusory glory of his triumph over Quinn. He stopped and knelt at the Goa'uld's feet, looking at his master with adoring eyes. Ba'al stooped forward and stroked the fine twists of the young man's hair, breaking eye contact for a moment.

"My lord?" Morgan questioned, concerned.

Ba'al inhaled, bringing his other hand to the young man's forehead. The Goa'uld's anger surged through the ribbon device, he wore, emitting a powerful blast that held Morgan in its intensity.

The Hok'tar screamed in pain as the Goa'uld stood over him. "You disobeyed me!" He bellowed his voice harsh.

"No, no I only thought…." Morgan stuttered, his brain stinging with needles of pain.

"I have told you that thinking does not suit that empty head of yours." Ba'al increased its strength as the young man buckled under the weight of agony. "Do you not think I was in control at all times. Quinn was powerless against me, his abilities were weakened, I made sure of that. So, tell me, as you are unable to have an original thought, what made you come to such an assumption?"

"C-C-Cassandra." The Hok'tar stuttered bitterly.

Ba'al looked over at the young woman, "ah, the brains behind the beauty. I will deal with you when I have finished here." He chided furiously; Cassandra did not flinch.

"Please, my lord, you're hurting me," Morgan pleaded.

"And why should I care?"

"Because I am your Hok'tar, you, you need me," the young man reasoned desperately.

Ba'al laughed, ceasing his punishment of the other man; Morgan slumped onto the floor. The Goa'uld looked down on the gasping man, taunting him. "Do I?" He sneered. "I think I have a plethora of Hok'tars to use at and _for_ my pleasure," he motioned towards Cassandra. "Why should I keep you?"

Despair filled Morgan's eyes even though his words still held a certain conviction. "Because you love me," he implored, holding out his arms to his master.

Ba'al snorted. "Love, love? Do not delude yourself. You were just a submissive and accommodating fancy, bred to be used. Do you think I could love such a self-centred, prancing, peacock as yourself? You have no depth, Morgan you are undeserving of such an emotion."

Morgan curled his arms around himself. "And you think Quinn is?" He snarled, his bitterness burning through the tracks of mascara filled tears.

Ba'al smiled, flexing the device. "He maybe harder to break but the challenge would not be without its rewards. Although," he pondered, "I would not want to break him fully as he has a certain charm I find entertaining."

The young man turned away and looked to the ground, feeling his world cave in around him. A fragment broke from his heart, the only untainted splinter that had taken root and slowly began to blossom was now lost, stifled by the darkness of his soul. "And what about me?" The question was just a whisper, spoken to the floor.

Ba'al bent over the pathetic creature. "I find you dull and obnoxious and now, my dear boy, you have outlasted your usefulness." His answer caused more pain than any torture.

Morgan sobbed as the recurring feeling of abandonment echoed through his soul. He was alone, the _one_ person he had so cherished now maligned his love as something vulgar and coarse. _'Just like your parents.'_ A dark voice whispered in his head.

'_You gave them your affection but they vilified you, turned you away and gave you to your childhood monsters; yet you survive them because you are strong. Do not be disheartened by this false god's cruel words, he is nothing to you now. He may have pushed you aside but you can rise up, for you are better than he and you have the power to punish such an affront to your vanity.' _

Morgan's hand closed around the hidden dagger, feeling it warm to his touch. Ba'al was still gloating, the sound of his voice fuelling the hatred that was burning through the Hok'tar's body like quick fire.

Ba'al laughed, confident in his power over the crestfallen youth, assured that he was still the master of the Kelownan's heart. He flexed his hand.

"I loved you." Morgan declared miserably, more to himself than the Goa'uld.

"Your love was always tainted, a sour gift that I tolerated," Ba'al retorted, a hint of boredom creeping into his voice. He stifled a yawn and stretched out his palm before him.

"No," Morgan cried, springing to his feet, his eyes angry and hostile. "No," he exclaimed again.

Ba'al took a backward step, startled by the Kelownan's reaction and initiated the ribbon device. A vivid flash of light lashed the air towards the young man's forehead but Morgan stopped its progress with the passion of his septic anger, soaking up its force.

"I loved you!" The Hok'tar now screeched at Ba'al, his eyes inflamed by the insanity burning from the flame of Ba'al's pretence.

He'd been used, humiliated, his feelings squashed by life's cruel whim. He gripped the hilt of the dagger, aroused by its touch, his senses tingling with its power. It was as if it was whispering to him, through the force of his rage, whispering to be used once more, to taste new blood.

Morgan smiled through the crescendo of light that battled the space between him and his former lover; but the gesture was as hollow as his soul. He pulled out the slim weapon and held it so Ba'al could observe it.

The Goa'uld scoffed, thinking the small blade worthless as the young man pitched it from his grasp. It spun towards Ba'al. End over end, glinting in the light as it turned with all the grace of a dancer toward the Goa'uld. It soared, on dark wings of hate, piercing his protective shield, embedding itself in the hard muscles of host's shoulder. The Goa'uld cried out in surprise and pain, tumbling backwards onto the floor.

He tried to dislodge the weapon but his skin seemed to melt onto the polished onyx of the hilt. Spikes of pain radiated from the wound as the dagger took root, turning the flow of blood to thick black tar. The flesh tightened, stretching, dragging the muscle through the body, pushing it against the curve of the bone until the skeleton collapsed, sealing the symbiote in, burying him alive in a human coffin. Ba'al tried frantically to free himself, like a man scratching against the dirt, but found he was held by the spread of the dark weapon.

Morgan strode purposely towards the fallen god. He knelt down, easily plucking the knife from the host. He smoothed Ba'al's hair back, "I loved you even though I knew what you were," he whispered, the words spiking between his teeth like the tongue of a snake.

Morgan gripped the weapon firmly in his hands and held it above his head. Ba'al cried out but it went unheard as he watched _his_ Hok'tar thrust the dagger into the soft flesh of the host's throat. The snake of his body writhed in agony as Morgan bore down on the knife with his full body weight. The young man smiled without feeling as he felt Ba'al's agonizing death at his own hands. He pulled the dagger free once more and fuelled by the venom of his hatred he stabbed at the body again and again without mercy.

Cassandra moved forward and tenderly touched the young man's shoulder; he recoiled against her softness. Turning on her, he stood up. "This is your doing," he accused, pointing the bloodied dagger in her direction. "You let me believe Quinn was a danger to my master when it was untrue."

She kept eye contact, her face remaining unemotional. "Yes I did," she empathized, keeping her voice calm.

Morgan step towards her, his heart racing with fury. "Why?" He vented.

"Because it was the only way I could make you see Ba'al was using you," Cassie remarked.

The young man shook his head, dropping the knife and falling to his knees over his dead lover. He clenched his hair between his fingers, leaving streaks of cherry through its spun gold. "No, no, no," he murmured fretfully. "What I have I done, what have I done?" His anger was gone, leaving him feeling empty.

"You've taken control of your own life," Cassie snarled back, gripping the young man's shoulder. "Don't waste your tears on that thing. He manipulated you, exploited your good nature, to him you were as expendable as one of his Jaffa."

She knelt beside him, pulling him away from Ba'al's slaughtered remains. "You are worthy of so much more, Morgan," she cajoled, cosseting him to her lonely chest.

"You are more of a god than him," she gently stroked his stained curls. "The Goa'uld have to use trinkets and baubles to maintain their power, while you have a natural ability, given to you at birth. Why not use it to liberate those enslaved under the Goa'uld's oppressive rule as you have done here today?"

He moved away from her embrace to look at her face. Cassie wiped away the tracks of tears and blood from his cheeks. "Me?" He uttered.

"Yes," she combed his fringe from his eyes as a mother would do. "Why not? Think of the adoration that would greet you when you free those made to cow down before these false gods. They would be devoted to you, treat you with the reverence you deserve, worship you without restraint and give you the unconditional love you've been searching so long for."

Morgan looked down on the dead body of the Goa'uld, letting Cassandra's words settle in his mind. "Worship me," he echoed, a smile playing on his lips.

"As a god," she reiterated, taking both his hands in hers.

"What must I do?" He asked, his thin voice full of enthusiasm, his lover forgotten.

Cassie smiled, "you must first take Ba'al's ship."

A mixture of apprehension and fear crossed Morgan's pale brow, she squeezed his hand in reassurance. "Use your ability. Make these so called warriors fear you more than they feared Ba'al. Make an example of some, save others, for you will need an army to command…" She paused, "…My Lord." She said for effect.

The young man gazed at her, his ego inflated. "I will do it!" He exclaimed, taking her lowered head in his hands, he kissed her cold lips. "And you will be at my right hand, Cassandra, for both your counsel and a reminder to all that I have the power to raise the dead."

"As you wish my Lord," she flattered.

He smiled again basking in the light of the title; they stood up. "You must clean yourself first," Cassandra advised, taking a rich cloth from over a table. She wrapped it round him, "I will clear up here."

Morgan nodded and went towards the door. He stopped for a moment and turned back to her. "Do not think to double cross me, my dear _sister,_ or you too will face the same fate as Ba'al."

"My only wish is to serve you, _brother_, and to see you rise above all those who have caused you pain."

Morgan nodded again and left the chamber.

Cassandra looked down at the body and smiled, retrieving the dagger. "My work is not yet done," she said kneeling down to cut into the chest. "And you have one more part to play."

Ashtoreth watched the young woman's actions from a concealed room. She had been summoned to report to her master, information that had delayed when he had heard of Morgan's visit to the cells. She had waited his return from her view point and witnessed Ba'al's demise. Silently she slipped out by another exit.

Cassandra turned her head slightly then continued with her task.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Teal'c slid across the tiled floor to the unconscious man as the force field dropped him from its grasp once more. He cradled his friend to his chest trying to soothe him from the inner torment the young man was fighting. A guard entered the room in full Jaffa regalia followed by a tall blonde woman. Teal'c eyed her warily, sensing a Goa'uld presence within her.

She afforded him a glance "can he walk?" She demanded, as the guard moved to the entrance, weapons fire rebounded along the corridor; the woman seemed oblivious.

Teal'c met her gaze. "He has yet to regain consciousness," he spat. "Tell your master his is in no fit state to be moved." He pulled Jonas closer as if to guard him from her scrutiny.

The woman gave a hollow laugh, "Ba'al is dead," she informed him impassively, "and if you wish to save both your life and that of your friend's, I suggest you come with me now. The Hok'tar and his bitch are taking control of this vessel, as you can no doubt hear." Another volley of staff blasts shook the containment area, sending sparks along the passageway.

Jonas shuddered, feeling more than the Goa'uld was showing. "Ashtoreth," he murmured his head restless against his colleague's torso.

The woman took a step forward and then withdrew, keeping her composure. "How do I know this is not one of Ba'al's mind games?" Teal'c asked.

"You do not," she answered plainly. "And as Jonas Quinn has not acquainted you with my allegiance, maybe I can find another way to persuade you."

Teal'c gently placed the young man down onto the floor and stood up, putting himself between Jonas and the Goa'uld. He braced himself; Ashtoreth smiled at his display and turned to her Jaffa escort. "It's seems my word is not good enough."

The guard nodded and the mask disappeared from his face, revealing another; Teal'c looked on in surprise. "S'hang," he exclaimed and walked forward to grip the offered arm, "brother, we thought you were dead."

S'hang clasped Teal'c elbow, "and I was many times under Ba'al's persecution," he explained, indicating to the deep scares scored into his face and blinding his right eye. "But he soon tired of me, leaving me to succumb to my injuries."

"Yet you did not die," Teal'c stated guardedly.

"No, it seems Ashtoreth needed me for her own agenda," he turned his head slightly to the Goa'uld.

"And you trust her?"

S'hang shook his head, "she is a Goa'uld but, for now, we have an understanding." Verifying the unspoken allegiance between them, which hung on a delicate thread.

Teal'c looked back at the young man curled on the cold floor, "and Ba'al?" He added.

S'hang answered quickly. "The Hok'tar has rid himself of his master and has set himself up as god in his place. Some Jaffa are still loyal to the Goa'uld and contest this boy's command but he is a powerful adversary."

Teal'c turned back to the other Jaffa. "They will lose," he reflected sadly.

S'hang nodded his agreement, "that is why we must go to the planet below."

"Kelownan?" Teal'c mused.

"Yes, no one will question two of Ba'al's Jaffa, the news has yet to filter down about his demise."

"And once there?" Teal'c looked again at Jonas.

"We will link up with the rebels." S'hang put his hand on the other man's shoulder, "Come, brother, it is the only way to ensure your safety."

Teal'c seemed satisfied. "Very well, I will carry him," he moved towards Jonas.

"Good," Ashtoreth commented finally, handing the SGC man Jaffa armour. "You will need to change quickly." She also handed him a vial.

"Tretonin?" He posed, turning the canister over in his hand.

"Who do you think produced it for Ba'al?" She retorted.

Teal'c bowed his head. "I will secure the corridor," S'hang remarked, moving out of the entrance.

Teal'c took as step forward toward the woman. "If this is a trick," he challenged holding the Goa'uld's gaze, "I will kill you myself."


	27. Hael

_Chapter 27_

_Hael_

There's no earthly way of knowing  
What was in you heart  
When it stopped going  
The whole world shook  
A storm was blowing through you  
Waiting for God to stop this  
And up to your neck in darkness - Advertising Space – Robbie Williams

* * *

Jack checked his watch again; only five minutes had passed since he had last looked. He rubbed his face and began to drum his fingers on the arm of the command chair. "He left ten minutes ago, Jack," Jacob reminded. "Just give him time."

Sam smiled across at the Colonel, glad, that at least, he had sat down and stopped pacing around the small space. "Hael's got to find both a safe and concealed area to plant the device, sir, that may take a while." She offered.

Jack puffed out his cheeks and held up his hand in surrender but impatience marked his brow. "I've just got this bad feeling, Carter." He looked over at Daniel.

The Egyptologist gave Jack a shrug. "I'm getting nothing," he remarked, gesturing to the console he was manning; Jack continued to drum.

* * *

Hael's nervous fingers worked at opening the heavy plating surrounding the chosen conduit. Another faint staff blast detonated along the corridor below, causing him to turn his head and check the entrance hatch. He wiped his palms in the quilted tunic used by Ba'al's servants; the heavy stitching caught on the roughness of his skin. He touched the Zat concealed beneath its folds for reassurance, waiting a moment for the heavy footfalls to fade before continuing with his task. 

Hael manoeuvred the device carefully into the energy stream, connecting it swiftly so that only a minute fluctuation would show on any scrutinized power readings. Cautiously, he locked the plate back into position then rested against the thick wall to wipe the film of perspiration from his forehead. He listened again to the area below him; finding it quiet, he got to his knees and crawled out of the cramped shaft to the hatch. Next he slid open the bulky lid, checked the corridor below then dropped to the floor.

He nervously inspected the explosives hidden beneath his elaborate garments anxious to get them set. When he was satisfied, he pulled out his communicator ready to contact the others.

"Hello." Hael turned his head to identify the speaker.

A woman stood behind him, her complexion as grey as summer storm clouds. He slipped his hand around the Zat. She watched the movement, making no attempt to move. "I've been waiting for you," she said with a smile so wide it looked like the flesh had been stripped from the face to make way for it.

* * *

"I'm getting something," Daniel exclaimed tapping the complex keyboard in front of him.

"About time," Jack remarked getting to his feet. "Well?" He asked fastening his vest.

"Just accessing key systems… That's odd," Daniel pushed his glasses up as he scratched the side of his nose.

"Odd?" O'Neill posed, stopping in his tracks.

"Someone's trying to change the command codes." He looked across at Sam who went to join him, looking over his shoulder.

"Has Hael been compromised?" Jack asked.

"No, this has been running before he infiltrated the ship." Sam observed, her gaze never leaving the flashing display.

"Can you still find Teal'c and Jonas?" O'Neill quizzed, keeping focused.

Daniel's fingers moved lightly across the keys. "There," Sam pointed to the screen.

The Egyptologist scrolled the data, they both smiled. "Something you wish to share?" O'Neill enquired.

"Jonas and Teal'c aren't on board, Sir," Sam answered. "It seems they've escaped." She smiled at the Colonel.

Jack visibly relaxed. "See, Carter, I told you not to worry." He looked towards Daniel who was frowning. "Daniel, tell me this is good news?"

"This isn't right. All outgoing messages have been blocked." The Egyptologist uttered, tapping the screen.

"Even down to the planet?" Sam looked over his shoulder again. Gou'ald symbols lighting her face.

"Now why would Ba'al want to do that?" Jack asked walking across to his fellow team members. "Unless it's some sort of trick." They both looked at him for a moment before turning back to the screen.

Daniel shook his head. "All communications have been stopped, there's even a priority message that's…" He stopped, turning to Sam.

"Am I reading that right?" She asked, touching the display with her fingertip.

"Reading what right?" Jack joined them, trying to decipher the string of text.

Jacob looked over. "What is it?"

"Ba'al's dead." They said in unison.

"Dead as in?" Jack ventured.

"Dead as in, dead, Sir." Sam answered.

"We're talking dead, dead, right? I mean, as in an ex-Goa'uld?"

"Apparently, yes," Daniel offered. "According to the message there's been a coup. Ba'al's Hok'tar is trying to seize power. A, um, transmission was sent ordering all loyal Jaffa to return to the ship, to, to, um, crush this uprising." He gave a little shrug.

"Ba'ak's Hok'tar….." Jack didn't get to finish as the ring platform initiated. O'Neill and Sam drew their weapons.

Hael appeared in between the spinning circles or at least a thing dressed in the same clothes as the Tok'ra, fell to the floor. There was nothing human left. Flesh and muscle had melted onto the bone, mummifying his body in its own fat.

His charred lips moved as a brittle hand tore at the charred remains of his chest.

"Dear God he's still alive," Sam whispered in horror, rushing to kneel by the body.

She gently lifted his head; blistered eyes looked up in pain. "Cassandra said to say hi." His face cracked with a smile and he began to laugh.

Sam looked down on the gluey mass of his torso, drawn to the small red pulsating light. "Bomb!" She yelled unable to move.

Jack dragged her away by the collar and hit the console to activate the rings.

"Jacob!" He bellowed.

General Carter punched the thrusters, sending everyone to the floor just as the bomb detonated.

A/N – Thank you for all the feedback, it really helps keep me going.


	28. Pathos Tears

_And all of these moments  
Just might find their way into my dreams tonight  
But I know that they'll be gone  
When the morning light sings  
And brings new things  
For tomorrow night you see  
That they'll be gone too  
Too many things I have to do  
But if all of these dreams might find their way  
Into my day to day scene  
I'd be under the impression  
I was somewhere in between  
With only two  
Just me and you  
Not so many things we got to do  
Or places we got to be  
We'll sit beneath the mango tree now – Jack Johnson._

-------------------------------------------------

Teal'c watched the young man on the make-shift bed struggle against the flares of emotion burning through his vulnerable mind. The cot was no more than an old sprung mattress thrown on the floor in an improvised and over run infirmary. Medical staff from all three nations tried vainly to patch up the various injuries with what little supplies they had. Their efforts were hampered by the incessant screams of those who, lost in the paranoia of Naquadria poisoning, scurried in and out of the many shadows thrown by the artificial light, trying to find the pieces of their once cogent mind. The Jaffa was thankful, at least, that Jonas had been given a small alcove to himself away from their fretful ramblings.

A young woman came over to check on them. She handed Teal'c a small jar full of water before pressing a palm to Jonas' forehead; he stilled under her touch. She smiled at the Jaffa, gesturing towards the receptacle. "Sorry, we have to make do with what we have," she said apologetically.

"It is fine," Teal'c informed her, taking a drink of the ice-cold liquid as if to prove the point. He swallowed, letting its clarity quench the sand of his thirst.

"His temperature seems to have come down," she advised, folding a blanket near the young man's feet. "I will need to re-dress the wound though." She looked for approval and Teal'c nodded in response.

While the woman busied herself, Teal'c's eye was drawn to the delicate frosting of crystals that decorated the walls. The elegant needles made rainbows of the faint light that came courtesy of an old generator rattling in the corner.

"This whole cave system has many different types of crystals," the woman remarked, seeing where his gaze rested, "but I have to admit a fondness for the gypsum."

She inclined her head, "maybe it's the way they trap what little light we have and make it dance with all the colours of the outside world." Looking back to the Jaffa she gave a fleeting smile.

"I should warn you that there are also some pretty astounding life-sized forms that look almost human. In fact, I heard, that the first unit down here shot at a few thinking they were some kind of ghostly cave dwellers." She let out a small laugh which showed a chip to her front tooth.

The Jaffa's lips twitched slightly as he took another drink. "There are other chambers. These caves stretch for many miles," she informed him. "But we keep mainly to this cavern. It's less steep for both the elderly and infirmed and there's a fresh water source nearby." She nodded in the direction of a large body of water that was so glassy and translucent, the crater it filled seemed empty.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" The woman whispered seeing the flicker of wonder cross his dark features as he viewed the ethereal lake.

"I would not have known it was there," he remarked turning back to her.

She met his gaze, pausing from binding Jonas' hand and nervously brought her fingers through the short sweep of her tawny hair. She pointed to her forehead. "Your symbol, it's not the same as the others." She gave him a hesitant look, hoping her observation had not given offence.

"No," he replied softly, "I was First Prime to the false god Apophis," he answered, lowering his head. "The Jaffa on your world serve the Goa'uld known as Ba'al."

"What happened to Apophis?" She asked quietly.

"Like Ba'al, he too is dead." Teal'c replied, his face giving away nothing.

The woman nodded. "Your news gave us hope that we can now defeat Ravel but…" She looked away and began tying the dressing to Jonas' hand.

"But?" Teal'c invited gently.

"My, my life-partner was taken by, by those who serve this Ba'al." Her gaze wandered again to the glistening waltz of colours.

"The Jaffa." Teal'c prompted gently.

"Yes," she replied. "They took him away for experimentation, he…. he was, is an athlete." She looked back at him.

"Do you know for what purpose they took him?"

She nodded, carefully laying Jonas' arm back onto the mattress. "I hear rumours and half-truths but I believe Ba'al was trying to create some kind of super soldier from those…." "You were aboard his ship, were there any other prisoners…" She broke off.

"Ba'al would not conduct an endeavour such as this on board his Ha'tak. Is it most likely that these individuals were taken to one of his strongholds."

"On another planet?" She questioned.

"That is correct." She waited, willing him to say what she already knew in her heart. Teal'c looked into the melted chocolate of her eyes. "It is doubtful that Ba'al's demise will stop the quest for a more powerful warrior. Those taken would have already been utilized into the service of the Goa'uld; there would be little left of the person they once were."

She gave him a brief smile for his honesty. "I think, I always knew he would not be coming home, in body" she added, looking to her hands in thought. "My people believe there are many different levels of freedom, death being just one more open door that releases the stone of our inner being."

She paused, taking a deep breath. "When he was taken, my Leo, I was put to work in the mines. My blood tested positive for Naquadria, I have little time left to train new nurses before I too become trapped in my own delusions." Her gaze rested on those torn individuals wrestling with their broken thoughts. "I've heard that you fight against these Goa'uld, to liberate all those under their rule."

Teal'c bowed his head. "If, by chance, you come across this stronghold, would you free those trapped in the service of the Goa'uld, even if it means their death?"

She looked up and Teal'c saw, in her face, the young woman she was before war had stencilled its number on her. He gently reached over and squeezed her hand as a silent promise.

She got to her feet and placed a kiss on his cheek before going to her next patient.

Teal'c spread his hand on Jonas' chest wishing he could somehow comfort his friend.

"You can," a voice whispered like a summer breeze through grass.

Teal'c turned and found himself, once again, surrounded by a rich pall of patient poppies. He smiled, inhaling their happiness, letting his hand trail in the reel of their plush heads.

"How can I help him?" He asked, directing his question around the fertile pasture. "I am no doctor."

The sun smiled down at him. "You have it within yourself to guide him and help contain the emotions of those around him. You can heal what is broken."

He inadvertently looked down at his palm, squeezing it shut. "How?" he asked again.

Teal'c felt the touch of a higher benevolence soften his skin as the sun's transcendent arms blessed each of the cardinal blooms. The poppies joyfully bobbed under her light, unfurling their vibrant petals to become a host of butterflies. These venerable insects flickered against the air, their delicate flight composing a sonnet of scarlet around the Herculean figure of the Jaffa. Teal'c followed their dance as they formed a snake-like chain around him, mimicking a symbiote; his symbiote.

Realisation kissed his lips as they twisted and fell to the ground.

"Kel-no-rim", Teal'c whispered to the fading meadow.

"As one being," came the soft reply.

------------------------------------------------------------------

_Jonas removed his t-shirt and lay back on the exam table as Janet started to gently press her hands along his ribs. Her touch was patient and soft, waiting for him to relax when she located a point of tenderness. He watched her work, wanting to say the hundred and one things that were surfacing and spinning in his head but the words just seemed to crash on his lips without a sound. _

_He sat up so she could examine the contusions smeared around his neck. He tried to focus on something other than the delicate rhythm of her breathing melting into his skin but he found it impossible; he stood up abruptly._

"_Jonas?" Janet cried, not finished with her examination but he looked away._

_She placed an urgent hand on his shoulder, a plea for him to look at her. He turned and their eyes locked. There was a moment, he could feel it, time was waiting on a hesitant drip from a tap and his mind and heart conflicted. He bent down and tenderly brushed his lips against hers as the fire in his heart won._

_He pulled away, "I'm, I'm sorry," he said cracking the silence but Janet was gone._

The examination room evaporated into the whiteness around him and he was left cloistered in his own thoughts.

Isolated.

Alone.

And safe from the swollen mix of emotions that buffeted the walls of his mind.

"But you're not safe," came a flirtatious voice of throaty pampas.

Jonas turned, "Izzie?" He questioned.

Two dark eyes shone through the thumbprint of her image. "In spirit and in your dreams," she reflected, an engaging smile bringing her body through the haze.

She reached out a hand and caressed his cheek without brushing the skin. "Jonas," his name swayed on her bewitching lilt. "Look around you, even now the shadows creep into your refuge."

He could sense them but chose to ignore the clog of their colour in his thoughts. He shook his head, "I can't do this any more." He confessed as quiet tears fell from the pathos surrounding him.

He looked down into the folds of his empty palm; his life reflected on each ridge and disjointed line. He could feel past events weighing on his soul as they leached every last ounce of his being. "I have no fight left," he whispered.

Izzie reached out and took his hand in hers, watching the tears slide down the silk of his skin. He fell into her gaze as she moved closer, placing her lips in the salt of their misery. Tasting their depth, she kissed them away.

Izzie wrapped her arms around him, feeling the wild beating of his shattered heart next to her own. "Ssh," she cajoled, resting her head against him. "Jonas you're stronger than these shadows. Your strength is in here," she brushed her long fingers against the movement of his chest.

"And here," she took his hand and placed it over her own heart. He felt its rhythmic twitch under the tantalising veil of her raised breast. "And here," she guided his fingers through the surrounding walls to touch the outside; Jonas felt Teal'c's friendship overwhelm him.

She nuzzled close to his ear, her breath rousing the fine hairs on his lobe. "This is your strength," she whispered, the low pitch of her voice enchanting his senses.

Jonas shook his head, breaking away, running his fingers through his scalp to make pyramids of his hair.

Izzie's lips sparkled as she spoke, moist with both light and truth. "You think love and compassion are weak emotions?"

Jonas turned his head slightly. "They've been used against me too many times." He flinched against the memory of his words.

"And they've saved you too." Her sable eyes flared. "We're nothing without them Jonas, they're the cord that binds our hearts to one another. You can't cut yourself off from them, just as you can't stop breathing; they're a necessity, a part of who **you** are. Pity those soulless creatures that will never experience these emotions." She turned her gaze to the nebulous cloud slowly enveloping the light.

"I can't play their game any more Izzie, too many people get hurt, people I care about. It would be easier on everyone…."

She stopped his words with a kiss, cupping her hands around the side of his face to bring him closer. Jonas could taste the desire for life upon her sumptuous lips tempting him to drink more of her. He brought his own hands to the back of her head and neck, pushing himself onto the merry dance of her mouth, not wanting to break the spell.

They breathed; a moments pause and Jonas lost himself in her scent floating across their divide.

He grabbed at the strings of her hair, pulling her back to his willing lips, needing to quench the thirst of his desire; needing to be loved. He felt the surge of her passion galvanized his abandoned heart, fuelling its spirit to beat once more and be satisfied. Their kiss deepened, stimulating the light within to saturate the void and send the encroaching darkness to the outer reaches of the soul.

Izzie released him, keeping her long fingers against his face. Jonas gasped for air, reaching for her again, wanting to savour her vivacity and surrender himself to the pulse of his body. Izzie stopped him, bringing their foreheads together, lips a fingertip apart, breathing as one. "My time is short," her words melted in his mouth.

He held onto her, not wanting to let her go, his breath playing a light tempo on her cheek.

She pulled him, once again, into the depths of her gaze, biding him to concentrate on her words. "It's not going to be easy Jonas," she said softly, shaking her head a little, "but you already know that."

She paused, her breath whispering against his lips. "You're not alone in this, remember that." She drew round his wounded lip with her nail. "You have your friends around you, their strength will safeguard you."

She let her touch glide down his neck; he let out a soft moan that fluttered across her lips. "Like a rainbow amidst the darkest storm," she quoted, remembering her grandmother's words as she rubbed her thumb and forefinger over the obsidian pendant. A of purple, green and gold bands jumped from the stone's inky heart.

"This will protect you too. It will help you find the insight you seek. Use it Jonas," she stated. "Let it aid your self-development and purge you of any negativity." She kissed the stone, closing her eyes a moment before returning her gaze back to the young man.

She toyed tenderly with his hair, drawing her words from another place. "Jonas," she whispered, "know whatever happens, I'll be waiting for you." She gave him a gentle smile that held no judgement, yet she looked away.

"Izzie?" He enquired as the bond between them unravelled and she faded from his mind.

Jonas watched the place where she'd stood, her essence still visible in the embers of his thoughts. He felt the emptiness return like a cold wind heralding the winter months. He wrapped his hand over the stone and closed his eyes. He felt the sheen from the colours swirl around him, beckoning him to follow their path. The jumble of emotion that encircled his being parted and he heard the gentle trickle of Teal'c's voice as it called across to him. He reached out and was rewarded with the Jaffa's firm grasp taking hold of his own hand.

Teal'c smiled as the young man's eyes fluttered open. "Welcome back Jonas Quinn," he said softly.

------------------------

Izzie let her fingers rest against her lips, still sweetened and balmy from Jonas' kisses. She breathed in deeply letting herself, slowly, awaken to her surroundings. She stretched and smiled, her dark eyes intoxicated by the senses still warming the honey of her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself and waited for her heart to settle from its pleasurable flit. She got up and loosely tied an old bathrobe around her, pulling at its collar to smell its welcoming scent.

She walked across to an unfinished canvass that waited on its easel and touched the mix of blues that coloured its partial story; her fingertips pulsed with the vision of its completed picture.

Izzie longed to understand its narrative.

She had always seen possible futures but never had she witnessed the past so vividly.

AN: Thanks to CT and SR for their help with this one. Sorry it's been so long getting to you but I've been on my holibobs. Take care.


	29. You're Bleeding

_Monday finds you like a bomb  
That's been left ticking there too long,   
You're Bleeding.  
Some days, there's nothing left to learn   
From the point of no return,  
You're leaving. **I've Saved the world today**_ - **Eurythmics**

_So sorry for the delay in getting this to you. RL just been so busy. Thank you for sticking with this. :o)_

_----------------------------------------------------------------------- _

**Chapter 29**

**You're Bleeding **

Teal'c's voice guided Jonas as his mind pushed through the metallic sheen of the obsidian talisman. Slowly, using both the power of the gem and the direction and support of the Jaffa, he began to build a protective wall, blockading the invasive clutter of emotions.

He allowed himself to coast in the safety of his newly acquired cocoon, following the elasticity of the colours that banded towards the horizon of his being and beyond. For a brief moment, he touched the light, the spark of his inner self as it fleetingly danced between the rainbows. It looked back at him and smiled before expanded into the brilliance.

Jonas sighed, breaking his concentration, feeling the seep of external emotions challenge him once more. He rubbed his eyebrow, finding the strength within to repulse relentless assault.

"Do you wish to stop Jonas Quinn?" The Jaffa asked gently.

"For the time being," Jonas answered, breathing in. "Thanks Teal'c." He tucked the pendant back into his T-shirt.

The Jaffa nodded. "You are making good progress." He said, clasping his hands together over his crossed legs.

Jonas looked at him. "You can tell that in just two days?" He unfolded his legs, rubbing his knee.

"You have natural abilities," the Jaffa answered, inclining his head.

"Maybe it's those Goa'uld genes." Jonas ventured lightly with a winning smile.

"Indeed." Teal'c lips smirked.

Jonas stood off the cot and stretched his long body with the crack of tired bones. Teal'c watched until he was satisfied the Kelownan had suffered no ill effects from the lesson before taking his leave. "Jonas Quinn, S'hang has asked me to aid him with repairs to a Tok'ra communication device…."

"I could give you both a hand if you want?" The young man almost pleaded.

"I believe it would be in your best interest to rest." The Jaffa advised, gesturing back to the bed.

Jonas rolled his eyes preparing to argue but a stern look from his friend cut off any attempt.

Teal'c nodded as the young man acquiesced and sat back on the mattress. The Jaffa relaxed his posture and stood with ease, his supple legs showing no stiffness from being folded so long. He stopped to talk to the young nurse he had befriended before leaving to join S'hang.

Jonas blew out his cheeks, gazing at the delicate patterns of gypsum, tracing their outline with his mind. Their path drew him to the countless messages chalked on the walls; messages of broken families, of death, of comfort and new beings. They were a testament to both the futility and triumphs of war in weeping words of loss and joy. They were a potent memorial for the next generation.

A man scuttled in and out of the shadows, patting the sides of his head with the heal of his palms as he tried to remember some detail lost to him. He drew a circle in the air with his finger, the glaze of his eyes never leaving the delusion of his parallel existence. He gave an inhuman scream and began to push at some unseen foe, backing himself into the rough surface of the wall. With another howl he buried his head in his hands and began to weep, lost in the folly of his own mind. Jonas diverted his gaze as the man crouched to the floor and urinated.

He rose from the mattress but a nurse came to the man's aid, fatigue distancing her from compassion as she tried to usher the stricken man away. She gave Jonas a rueful smile that was both soft and guarded but he knew that she too was screaming inside.

"Jonas?" The familiar inflection to the voice made the young man turn instantly.

"General Wolf," Jonas held out his hand in greeting.

The older man took it with his tobacco stained fingers. "I'm sorry I've not been down to see you before…"

"I'm sure you've more important things to do."

The older man nodded then gestured back to the cot. "Please."

Jonas shook his head, "I'm fine." He held up his tightly bandaged hand as evidence.

The General nodded again and looked beyond Jonas to a secluded bench. "Do you mind if I sit down?" He asked.

The young man shook his head and followed Wolf to the seat. The General reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered tin, flicking the lid open with his thick thumb. He gently took out a pre-rolled cigarette, snapping the lid shut as he considered his words. He looked at Jonas and tapped the cigarette ritually on the box. Jonas waited sensing the burden of the General's thoughts.

Wolf put the cigarette to his lips and then took it out again. "You did the right thing, Jonas," he reflected with honeyed tones, looking the young man in the eye.

Jonas swallowed the pain that leapt to his heart. "You gave Chufa back his dignity," the General concluded. "You should know the people here respect you for that as much as they despise Ravel."

Wolf held eye contact a moment longer before putting the smoke back in his mouth and lighting it with one fluid movement, cupping his hands more out of habit than necessity.

The silence between them lent itself to the distress of the wounded whose voices vexed the echo of the chamber.

Jonas inhaled the thick aroma of tobacco, remembering the distant imprint of his own father in the woody odour. His gaze centred on Wolf through the rich haze that drifted to meet the drip of the cave's ceiling. "Jonas we're planning an offensive that we hope will end this once and for all." He let his lungs rest a moment. "The time's right, Ravel's forces are in disarray with the power struggle that's going on within the Jaffa."

The young man nodded. "No doubt Ravel will be expecting it, I know I would if I was him," Wolf remarked, flicking ash to the floor, "but we have to stop running some time and make our stand. Now is as good a time as any."

"General, if there's anything I can do to help…." Jonas' words were evenly spoken, his eyes holding Wolf's own.

The older man nodded and sighed. "My worry is when Ravel is defeated and all this is over." His words cruised on the iron like smoke. "At the moment these people have a common enemy, the old grievances lie forgotten as we stand side by side but that will stop once this war for unity has ended."

He paused, leaning forward to rest both arms on his legs. "My fear is that Langara will never get a chance to flourish, that all this will be for nothing as past injustices are remembered breaking our nations apart once more. You know as well as I do that this is more than a possibility."

Jonas agreed as he toyed with the wrapping on his hand. "First Minister Dreylock had the same fear," he stated, tucking in a loose end.

He turned back to the older man, trying to gauge their conversation. Wolf looked wistfully into the mist of his own words. "Dreylock was a good leader. She understood the people, knew how to appease them, while I have all the diplomatic skills of a warmonger. I can lead them to the green pasture, show them how to defend it but I cannot show them how to plough." He looked back at the younger man, his eyes expectant.

Jonas rubbed his forehead and let out a wry laugh, "General I…"

"These people trust you Jonas." Wolf's voice trickled in its rustic lilt. "You warned us of the Goa'uld threat, spoke out for unification and brought our three warring nations to the table…"

"That was Dreylock, Sir…"

"No Jonas it was you."

The young man shook his head; the General gave him a small smile. "I know you have a unique gift lad, an ability that gives you an insight into the souls of men but these people know nothing of that. All they know is that you stood against your own people to save this planet. They recognise your sacrifice; to them you are the first Langaran and your arrival, here and now, has given them hope…"

"It was not by choice." The young man reasoned softly.

"Then maybe it was fated. Those who believe in such things say it is preordained, that it is an omen for the fight ahead." Wolf articulated with a certain flow.

"And you General?" Jonas' gaze bore deep into the General's soul.

Wolf laughed. "I will use anything that will inspire a man to fight with the belief of victory in his heart." He replied candidly, drawing on the tobacco.

"Even if that inspiration is part Goa'uld." The young man watched the General's reaction.

Wolf considered this, his face blank. "Yes," he said quietly in a puff of smoke. "Jonas, Dr Kieron saw in you the future of our planet not just Kelowna. If I'm honest, I see it too." He let the ash spill to the ground. "The people need someone to lead their hearts, Jonas, someone with a vision for the future, not an old crock of a soldier."

Jonas stood up. "Surely there is someone else, someone with more experience." He turned away from Wolf, leaning against an overhang.

The General shook his head, "not one these people would trust." He got to his feet and threw the cigarette to the floor, extinguishing it with his heel.

Jonas remained facing away. "I'm not ready," he whispered to the hard stone.

"None of us are, lad, none of us are." Wolf commented, patting the young man's shoulder.

Their conversation was interrupted as two Nightfishers entered the infirmary carrying a third between them. "It was a mistake to bring him here," one of Wolf's men admonish, following the boys closely. "You could have been followed."

"We careful tread. We make sure it be safe for coming here." The older Nightfisher explained laying his friend down so he could be tended to.

"You help him. He help you many times. You stop hurt." He continued, his hard brogue booming around the chamber.

Wolf stood. "What's going on here?" He demanded of the field officer.

The man snapped to attention. "Sir," he barked, "it's Llodi, he got careless, was caught after curfew by Ravel's men, they used him for target practice." The words were spoken with indifference as the man looked down on the injured boy.

Jonas followed his gaze to the expressionless doctor who tended to the multiple wounds; the careworn man shook his head. "I can give him something for the pain." His request was directed at Wolf.

The General nodded his head, shutting his eyes briefly. "Dutch," he spoke again to the officer, "I'm sure the boys were careful but I want you to take two men and scout the area. Make sure you keep in radio contact."

Dutch nodded a salute and stiffly left the chamber, his boots beating the signature of his agitated gait.

Jonas moved closer, conscious how the others stood off the dying youth, afraid for their own mortality to touch the tall spectre of death. He took Llodi's hand in his own and gripped it soundly. The boy looked towards him. "Wanted," the boy gasped, deflating his slender body, "wanted, wanted new trousers," he confessed in pain.

Jonas looked past the Nightfisher's defenceless and bloody torso to the pristine, multicoloured, slacks, gathered tightly with a hemp belt. He smiled at their opulence, "they look good on you," he commented stroking the boy's forehead.

"Glistening," Llodi answered. "Lifted from lady of wealth, big eat too much woman but Llodi make them fit. Is so clever." The boy reached a twig of a finger to tap his head.

The doctor returned and injected Llodi's bony arm, pausing a moment to briefly pat it more out of routine than any semblance of feeling.

The boy clutched Jonas' hand as he spoke again. "They not believe me," he whispered in anguish, casting a glance at his two cohorts. "But Saxony came saved Llodi, says I'm good boy."

The taller boy let out a 'tsk' and shook his head. "Bend around his mind, his thoughts," he remarked with a blackened smile.

Llodi tried to sit up, "my bag, where be it."

Jonas gently eased him back down. "Did he have a bag with him?" He directed his question over his shoulder.

The other Nightfisher, a boy of no more than eight, offered the former Ambassador a patent shoulder bag. Fumbling the task as it dawned on him he was the focus of attention by all around the bed.

"It been check-aid for booms and tack-in divvy-ices," he proclaimed proudly, handing it to Jonas.

"Thank you," the young man said as he took it from the small boy.

The Nightfisher beamed back with a row of broken and crooked teeth.

"Inside," Llodi stuttered. "Sue-ven-ear," he struggled with the pronunciation, "it for the, for snake lady."

"A souvenir?" Jonas questioned, pulling apart the clasp to look inside.

"Yes, Saxony give it me, tell me to give it…" His face crumpled with concentration, "Ash-tour-if." He finished.

Jonas took out a tightly wrapped bundle from within; the cloth was saturated in blood. He carefully opened the material binding to reveal a human heart.

"Saxony say her it a promise made," Llodi commented as death finally closed his amber eyes.

"Cassie," Jonas whispered, looking down at the raw mass of sonnets.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

S'hang shut the device and twisted the outer casing, looking towards Teal'c before activating it. He drew a long breath and watched the small light flicker green before changing to a dull red. He sighed, depressing the switch which stretched the length of the unit, the device resonated with nothing but static. Unable to quell his honed emotions S'hang tossed it on the table and shook his head, turning away.

Teal'c held his comrade's arm, "wait," he said with urgency.

The olive skinned Jaffa turned back as Teal'c picked the small communicator. The white noise fluctuated and abruptly faded as it located a signal.


	30. Come Bring Me Your Softness

_Come bring me your softness  
Comfort me through all this madness  
Woman, don't you know, with you I'm born again_

_Come give me your sweetness  
Now there's you, there is no weakness  
Lying safe within your arms, I'm born again_ - _**Kenny Lattimore** - With You I'm Born Again  
_

-----------------------------------------

**Chapter 30**

**Come Bring Me Your Softness **

Jonas found her alone in one of the many small chambers that ran adjacent to the main cavern. The host's heart lay on a rock formation in front of her.

Ashtoreth didn't look up. "Why are you here Jonas Quinn?" She said acidly, but the Kelownan could sense the sorrow beneath her feigned bile.

He sat down beside her, looking to the drip of the ceiling. "I just thought you could use a friend."

The Goa'uld let out a sigh of contempt. "Friend? Want would I want with friendship." Her deep voice resounded off the enclosed space. "You are mistaken if you believe that I could harbour any feelings it is not in my nature." She swept a hand towards the human heart, the disdain in her voice was evident, yet it was only surface deep.

"This was just a calling card, nothing more. A reminder that I cannot escape my past or my future. Now go, as you can see I have no need for your pity."

He turned to face her, his shoulder leaning on the rough surface of the wall. "You forget I can feel what you do not show."

She looked at him with stony eyes and snorted. "And let me give you the benefit of my insight into human nature, shall I? I believe you are looking for something to take your mind off your dilemma, a distraction. Wolf has asked you to be a figurehead for this rebellion and now you are in conflict with yourself. On one hand you think you have a duty to _these _people, yet on the other you just want to live your life free from all these constraints."

Her eyes widened, challenging him to rebuke her. "News travels fast down these twisted passageways, Jonas Quinn." she informed him.

"Then we are both hiding from something," he parried. "Me from my responsibilities and you from your emotions."

"You forget yourself human. Your recent injury must have made you light-headed. As I have already said, I am a Goa'uld, we are incapable of such feelings; they only get in the way."

"Yet you loved." His words bounced off the bulbous walls, sinking into her hidden soul.

She went to strike him but it wasn't anger that fuelled her raised hand, it was the frustration of truth. She brought her fingers to his face, gripping it firmly. Her passion, her lust, her grief and unhappiness, everything Ba'al had used, bled through her touch. Jonas tried to curb their merging emotions but they slipped from his inner grasp, shrouding them both in their fitful vortex.

He brought his own hand to cover hers, his eyes never leaving her face.

Ashtoreth swallowed. She was caught in the mirror of the moment, her soul stripped bare, yet she could see its twin image in gaze before her. The pain, the vulnerability, the loneliness. She leaned closer, bringing her lips to his, needing to alleviate his anguish, needing to be healed herself; his mouth gently parted to receive her.

Ashtoreth allowed herself a moment to savour the spark of his kiss, closing her eyes, letting her mask slip with the impulsive of desire. But she was still a Goa'uld; she pushed him from her. "This would be a mistake," she said soberly, her heart pounding in its casing. "We are different beings, you and I."

Jonas felt her struggle to control the empathy coursing through her veins as he too tried to free himself but their joint _need _was too strong.

He was drawn to her hidden fragility just as she was drawn to his. "Yet we are here," he said softly, his forefinger tracing the outline of her face.

She grabbed at his errant hand, shaking her head, even though her skin craved seduction as it flowered under the press of his caress. "It would still be a mistake." She barely murmured. Her breath trapped upon the seconds.

Jonas swallowed. "In the morning, yes," he answered not turning away, the provocative sigh of his breath melting her self-discipline.

Ashtoreth gave a small ironic laugh. "There is no day or night in this underground world." Her challenging gaze never left his.

"Yet there are stars," Jonas replied looking to the glimmer of the surrounding walls.

"Yes there are," Ashtoreth echoed, her silky voice moving closer to his mouth.

There was no hesitation as they explored the taste of each other's forbidden lips again, their joint yearning silencing the soft mummer of their reason. Jonas saw only her, not the host, not the myth, just the friendless being lost in the hardened layers of her own cold tears.

She stood up without breaking rhythm of their kiss and led him further into the alcove, away from the sight of the entrance, their feet moving in unison. They did not speak. Words were not needed as their bodies drifted on a reckless ocean of desire, purging each of their excess.

This was more than lust, less than love, sprinkled with neither salt nor sugar to flavour its taste. It was a brief pause in time, a yearning caught in cupped hands, never to be repeated.

Yet it was a union that would last a lifetime and beyond.

* * *

"It is good to hear your voice O'Neill." Teal'c statement echoed into the device. 

"And yours T, everything OK?" The question buzzed with static.

"I am unharmed but Jonas Quinn has been injured…" He didn't get time to finish before he heard Sam's voice stretch across their link.

"Is he okay?" Teal'c could hear the concern in her echoing voice.

"Carter." Jack remonstrated with a sigh.

"Sorry Sir." The words seemed further away than before.

O'Neill sighed again. "Is he okay?"

Teal'c lips gave a hint of a smile. "He will be in time, given plenty of rest. He has lost the ability to suppress the emotions of those around him."

"What happened?" Jack's voice faded slightly.

"Ba'al's Hok'tar stabbed him through the palm that holds the image of the Eye of Thoth but I believe Cassandra was behind the attack."

The Colonel snorted. "We had a visit from the vindictive little minx ourselves. We were lucky the only major injury was to Daniel's glasses." Teal'c could sense him smiling.

"That is good to hear," the Jaffa stated.

S'hang moved nearer the device. "I will give you the co-ordinates of our position and a safe area in which to land. The mountain range the rebels use acts as barrier against detection. It will shield you."

"Sounds good to me," Jack ventured.

Teal'c relaxed his posture slightly. "We will inform Jonas Quinn of your imminent arrival. It will be good to see you again O'Neill." He got to his feet as S'hang gave Jack the coded instructions.

----------------------------------------------------

They had been directed to Ashtoreth's chamber only after one of the medical staff remembered the former Ambassador asking where he was to find the Goa'uld.

S'hang hissed and moved forward. Teal'c placed a firm hand on his shoulder to stop his colleague wading in. "This is none of our concern," he whispered, drawing the other man back, their stealthy steps making no sound.

"But she is a Goa'uld," the olive skinned Jaffa whispered, watching the oblivious coupling.

"Who saved your life."

S'hang turned to his comrade. "Yet I do not trust her!"

Teal'c nodded, "neither do I but I trust him."

"Even though Ba'al has used her to seduce his enemies before," the younger Jaffa snarled, clenching his fist as his body tensed.

"Ba'al is dead." Teal'c reminded.

S'hang snorted. "The Goa'uld are all the same, she is using Jonas Quinn."

"I do not believe he would let that happen," the other man answered smoothly, turning to the entrance.

S'hang hesitated before reluctantly following, "but he is unwell, he could be susceptible…"

"This is none of our concern," Teal'c repeated plainly, cutting the other Jaffa off.

Although he understood S'hang's reservations there seemed to be another voice, an instinctive voice whispering, calming those fears. This was no more than it appeared, two lost souls, finding comfort in each other.

S'hang reached for his arm. "Your Colonel O'Neill would not be so tolerant." He hissed.

"Then it would be best not to mention it to him." Teal'c locked eye contact with the other warrior; S'hang said nothing.

The olive skinned Jaffa lowered his gaze and stooped to pick something from the floor. It was a human heart.

"There are carnivorous creatures that lurk in these chambers," S'hang informed him, wrapping it back up in the loose material about it. "I will dispose of it out side."

He abruptly turned from Teal'c and strode off.


	31. It Seems I've Stepped Over Lines

**Warning - contains one bad word **

_Please don't go crazy, if I tell you the truth  
No you don't know what happened  
And you never will if  
You don't listen to me while I talk to the wall _– Snow Patrol How to be dead.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 31**

**It Seems I've Stepped Over Lines**

Jack let out a deep sigh that echoed around him tenfold. He half listened as Daniel, animated with all the exuberance of a wide eyed Charlie Bucket, viewed the wilderness of rock that vaulted the maze-like passages and chambers. This enthusiasm was encouraged by his 2IC who was busy theorizing how this vast system was formed.

Jack sighed again. "Okay, okay kids enough," he complained over their fervent banter, rubbing a finger over his eyebrow. They turned back to him.

"Hansel, Gretel let's rein it back in shall we. Let's not forget why we're here. This is a rescue mission not some third grade field trip!" He added soberly, indicating for them to follow the small, rat-like, boy who was guiding them through the underworld grotto.

"But Jack," Daniel began, trying to find the right tact, "you have to understand this… this whole cave system - it's just so incredible. Doesn't it just blow you away?"

O'Neill looked from one to the other as he cast a critical eye over the splendour that was nature's cathedral. "Nope," he said, stepping passed them. Sam and Daniel exchanged a look of sheer bewilderment and Jack couldn't help but smile.

The twisted boy led them to where the two Jaffa sat, surrounded by a crowd of bulging mounds that held all the lustre of fake pearls.

Teal'c stood as they entered taking O'Neill's hand in friendship. "General Carter is not with you?" S'hang asked, exchanging a terse nod with the Colonel.

"No he stayed to make repairs and monitor the area," Sam answered over her shoulder as she wrapped Teal'c in a hug.

"You can never be too careful," Jack added, stretching his leg in front of him as he deposited himself on one of the bulbous stacks.

"Indeed," S'hang grumbled, keeping his gaze low.

"So where's Junior? Infirmary?" Jack enquired, unzipping his vest.

"He will be along shortly," Teal'c stated, exchanging a glance with the other Jaffa which did not bypass the Colonel.

"And this Asthoreth?" Jackson furthered, leaning his weight forward.

"Yeah, Daniel's eager to make her acquaintance," Jack said with certain amount of cynicism as he threw his thumb towards the Egyptologist.

Daniel shook his head. "I'm _eager_ to meet the woman behind the myths," he clarified pushing his spare pair of glasses up his nose.

S'hang snorted with disgust. "She is a Goa'uld, that is all you need to know." The brevity of his statement recoiled off the shimmering walls.

"See Daniel, what did I tell you?" O'Neill added, fishing for his canteen. "She's a snakehead, that's it." He took a drink, trying to ignore the dull ache that pushed at his knee in the damp atmosphere.

"Yet she did save you," Daniel countered, looking to the Jaffa.

He snorted again causing Teal'c to glare at him, "let it go, brother," he warned.

"Is there something I'm missing here?" Jack asked, looking between the two. "I mean, I can understand it must be hard to be indebted to a snakehead…"

S'hang stood up and stepped forward. "Well your Hok'tar is indeed grateful…"

"Brother." Teal'c cautioned his body tensing as he got to his feet.

"My Hok'tar?" O'Neill asked, inclining his head.

"Jonas Quinn." S'hang hissed; Jack looked towards Teal'c who remained silent.

He turned his attention back to S'hang, eyebrows raised. "Grateful, what do you mean grateful?" He didn't like where this was going.

S'hang smiled unpleasantly. "He is, at this moment _lying _with the Goa'uld to show his gratitude."

"Lying with her? Lying with her as in..? Jack's eyebrows knotted. "And you did nothing to stop this?" His statement, his annoyance was directed at Teal'c.

"Jack, let's not jump to conclusions here…" Daniel's defence sounded lame. "There could be a perfectly simple explanation." He looked towards Teal'c hopefully.

The Colonel glared at Jackson, "well I'd certainly like to hear it!" He turned back to Teal'c, slamming the top back on his canteen. "Well?"

The Jaffa stood his ground. "O'Neill, it is none of our concern." He said softly.

"Sir…" Sam interjected but was cut off by the Colonel's raised hand.

"None of our concern?" Jack continued, jumping to his feet. "Well correct me if I'm wrong here," his gaze rested on Daniel momentarily, "but doesn't this Goa'uld seduce her enemies…"

"Well actually it's Ba'al's enemies…." The Egyptologist's statement faded as Jack look angrily in his direction.

"Where?" O'Neill asked of S'hang.

"I will take you there," the warrior nodded, moving towards the passageway.

"O'Neill…" Teal'c began moving towards the incensed man.

Jack shook him off. "Oh, don't worry buddy we'll talk later."

"Sir," Sam began, trying to soothe the situation. "Maybe you ought calm down first…"

He exhaled through gritted teeth. "I am calm Carter." He said brusquely. "Stay here."

"But Sir."

Jack turned on her. "That's an order, Major," he snapped, following S'hang.

-----------------------------------

O'Neill's anger kept pace with the long strides of the Jaffa. It growled through him, biting at his senses but there was something else, something deeper, a feeling of disappointment fraying the edges of his indignation.

_Jonas had let the team down; had let him down. _He tried to shake it off. _ He didn't know why but he'd expected more. The kid should've known better than to get 'involved' with a damn snakehead. He felt betrayed._

_Once a traitor…. _O'Neill pushed the nagging thought away.

S'hang stopped the Colonel's enraged gait with a firm hand on his shoulder and nodded to an opening. A tall blonde woman emerged from within the shadow, stooping to negotiate an overhang. She looked from the Jaffa to O'Neill sensing the military man's displeasure.

"Colonel O'Neill!" Jack turned his attention to the young man who had followed her out.

"Yeah, surprise," Jack almost hissed. Jonas looked well despite the obvious injury to his hand. This galled O'Neill even more. _Maybe if he was sick it would explain his utter lack of consideration._

The Kelownan felt the flame of the Colonel's disapproval burn through his own skin, acting as a catalyst for his own unguarded emotions. He began to blush under O'Neill's knowing stare.

Ashtoreth shot him a look over her shoulder. Jonas shook his head and she nodded her understanding, leaving them alone as S'hang retreated back the way he came.

"It's not what you think," the young man confided under O'Neill's paternal scowl.

"You really wanna know what I'm thinking?" Jack seethed, crossing his arms. "Well?" He asked with a condescending air.

Jonas sighed, absorbing the other man's outrage. "She's not…" He began, trying to justify their tryst.

He looked into the Colonel's flushed face knowing he wouldn't hear the sentiment behind the words. It wasn't the time for profound explanations. He shook his head. "She saved us," came his mute reply.

"Oh, I see, I misunderstood", O'Neill said bitterly. "This is some Kelownan _thank you_ custom I'm unaware of, _sleeping with the enemy_, 'cos it sure as hell ain't how we do things at the SGC!" He stepped forward on the momentum of his anger. "Or is it any port in a storm for you? First Izzie and now her?"

Jonas rocked on his heels but didn't back off. "No, no, Colonel it wasn't, isn't like that. I feel differently about Izzie, I, I think I love her," he confessed, swallowing hard against O'Neill's cynical look.

"Really, then how come you're fucking a damn snakehead?" The anger rippled through chamber.

"No, Colonel if you'll just listen!" The young man pleaded.

"To what Jonas? How you risked the safety of your team mates, of the SGC just so you could get some!"

The Kelownan flinched. "You think I would disclose classified information to a Goa'uld?"

"I don't know, did you? You told Izzie about the Stargate, who knows what you divulged while you were playing friendly with the very enemy we came to rescue you from." He pointed his index finger, like a drawn dagger, toward the young man.

Jonas felt Jack's condemnation push him over the emotional edge he had so carefully been traversing. He could take no more. He let his resentment fall unchecked, parrying the swell of Jack's fury. "It doesn't matter what I say here and now, the truth is you wouldn't listen, you never do. You've already made up your mind. Let's face it, you don't trust my judgement and you sure as hell don't trust me!" The words just exploded from his lips. It felt cathartic.

_Tell him Jack. Tell him you meant it when you said there was only one Kelownan you'd trust with your life. He needs to hear it; he needs to hear you say the words. You do trust him. _But the voice was lost in the savage pounding of his fury. "And I thought you couldn't read minds?" The reply was harsh, Jack's tongue was tripping and he couldn't hold it back.

Jonas was stunned into silence. It was one thing to think it, another to have it confirmed; it hurt. It wounded. He wanted this man, above all others, to trust him. He was filled with despair.

He looked at O'Neill and saw the spectre of a man he could never reach. A man like his father.

Jonas laughed but it was empty and lost.

"What the hell's so funny?" Jack reproached.

"After four years I finally get some spark of emotion from the great Colonel Jack O'Neill."

"So this is what it was all about, huh? Some attention seeking? Well there you go, Jonas, you got my full attention."

The young man shook his head, turning away. "Oh, forget it," he hissed in annoyance.

_Walk away Jack, leave it. Just walk away now before it's too late_. Instead he grabbed at the Kelownan's sleeve, drawing him back to face him. "But I can't Jonas. I get it now, you want me to hold your hand, pat you on the back, say 'hey man, what a great job you're doing'".

"Would it hurt you once in a while?" Jonas snapped.

Jack shook his head, pushing the young man back to the wall. "Grow up, this is real life Jonas. Like it or not you're apart of a military organisation…"

"You distance yourself," the younger man interjected, "from you team…"

"I'm a military commander…" O'Neill reminded harshly, stepping closer.

"No Jack you're a human being," Jonas yelled, losing himself in the turmoil.

"Hell, your head's really screwed." Jack countered, cuffing the side of the young man's head in frustration.

Jonas scrubbed a hand through his hair feeling the burn of the Colonel's palm. He wanted this to stop but he couldn't prevent himself from drowning in his own misery. "Now I understand." He said coldly, fixing Jack with a hostile stare.

_Walk away Jack_.

"Understand what exactly?" O'Neill replied, standing toe to toe with the young man, sensing they were about to cross the line.

"Why Charlie took your gun. Maybe he just wanted _you_ to notice him, to get some sort of reaction from his distant father but it went wrong. Still, I guess it was a lot easier for you to love a dead son than a live one." He didn't even register Jack's fist connecting with his jaw or his head jarring against the rough surface of the wall until he was on the ground looking up.

O'Neill stood over him, hand still balled. "I've made some mistakes in my life that I'm not proud of but at least I'm no coward." His nostrils flared as he provoked the young man, wanting to expel the hatred burning through him by pummelling some flesh.

_Coward_

Jonas sprang to his feet, the aggression in his eyes matching that of Jack's. He too balled his hand into a fist, squeezing his nails into his palm. O'Neill waited, willing the young man to lash out and strike the rise of his temper from him, wanting it to end here.

They studied each other, their breathing quickening with the pause. Jonas moved his body weight forward and grabbed at the Colonel's vest, pulling him closer. Jack fleetingly saw the pain in his eyes before he masked it with a smile, loosening his grip. "Well," Jonas said all too calmly, "at least we both know where we stand." He stepped back.

O'Neill relaxed his stance too, feeling his anger slip from his rigid grasp. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and Daniel placed himself between the two men. "Jonas, Jack?" He enquired looking from one to the other.

The young man turned his smile to the Egyptologist. "I'm fine Daniel, just a misunderstanding, that's all but I think we've cleared the air." He looked to O'Neill as he spat blood to the floor.

Jack remained silent, trying to understand his own lack of control as he watched Jonas shoulder past him. "Damn it," he shook his head, feeling the knots in his stomach stretch like a band.

"Jack?" Jackson's frown asked too many questions.

"It's gone beyond mending Daniel," he said as he strode off in the opposite direction.


	32. Under The Lilac Tree

_I lost myself on a cool damp night  
I gave myself in that misty light  
Was hypnotized by a strange delight  
Under a lilac tree _– Lilac Wine (J. Shelton) Jeff Buckley's version

* * *

**Under The Lilac Tree**

Jonas slid down the rutted wall without feeling it scrap through his shirt. Several times he threw his head back against its surface as if it would dispel the sore edge of his hurt. It didn't. He could still taste the Colonel's acidic criticism.

_Coward._

It fed his anguish, it goaded his guilt.

_Coward._

It was no more than he deserved. He too had spoken out of turn, like a man drunk on fury and frustration; he was no longer in control.

He removed the bandage and look down on the flare of healing flesh. The eye had gone; he could no longer cling to its haven.

Somewhere through his rambling mind Sam's voice twisted with concern. It drew him back from his own censure to the dampness of the recess. He made himself small, trying to become one with the uneven rock.

He heard her footsteps as she moved closer to where he skulked in the safety of the shadows. He didn't call out. He couldn't face her; he couldn't face anyone.

He threw his head back again with a wry smile. Colonel O'Neill was right, he was a coward and he hated himself for it.

His touch lingered on the piece of Obsidian, gently rubbing the ink of its exterior. He waited for the burn of its understanding but all he felt, through the numbness of his soul, was hard, cold stone. It offered him no comfort.

He closed his eyes and composed himself feeling the pull of oblivion. He stood and heedlessly walked towards its epicentre.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

He could hear the Goa'uld's clipped tones above that of the Jaffa as he neared the hub of Wolf's command post.

Both the General and Ashtoreth looked up as he entered. S'hang's gaze lingered on the map before him before he acknowledged Jonas' presence.

Wolf gave the young man a jaded smile. "Jonas Quinn, how can I help you?" He wiped his tired face with a hand.

Jonas cleared his throat, sounding calmer than the beating of his heart. "General I have an idea that would divert Ravel's attention from your main attack tomorrow."

Wolf cast the young man a guarded look. "Go ahead." He offered plainly.

Jonas moved towards the detailed map the others were evaluating. He spoke steadily. "You plan to campaign on two fronts, here and here," he pointed to the diagram of the city. "The problem is you will be moving your forces through several areas which are open to heavy resistance…"

"Jonas we already have people within the city walls ready to muster on my command…"

"But that still won't stop Ravel's street units from blockading the main body of your advance and picking off your forward assault."

"We've assessed this already." The General's voice was pragmatic, knowing the cost of war. "There will be skirmishes as we press forward but our militia inside the walls will help our advance."

Wolf sighed. "I know Ravel has the upper hand. His troops know the city and are well placed to repel any attack but their ranks are sparse due to the loss of Ba'al's Jaffa. I'm not expecting open conflict until we get to the square." He brought his finger down on the map.

"But by then, Ravel will have had time to redeploy his defence force, swelling the numbers you'll face." Jonas' gaze still rested on the General's poised finger.

Wolf nodded solemnly, "but we have the stronger force," he reflected, "even if Ravel's men are seasoned soldiers."

"What if I could offer a diversion?" The young man's question caught Wolf's attention, his eyes narrowed.

Jonas moved forward. "What would happen if Ravel suspected the Stargate was under attack?"

Wolf sighed, this had been suggested before. "Jonas, we've looked at this, the Parliamentary building is under heavy guard….."

"The Nighfishers say Ravel hasn't had time to fill in all the tunnels under the building." Jonas interrupted quickly. "General, please just hear me out. I've been down there before, so has S'hang…" He looked towards the Jaffa.

"General Wolf, I believe Ravel would not suspect an attack from the catacombs," the warrior offered. "They are difficult to negotiate and are rife with," he paused, remembering his own passage through the rat infested tunnels, "the _debris_ of this conflict. A small unit of men with a few well placed charges could deflect the Commander's attention from your main assault."

"It would be suicide for all those involved." Wolf shook his head.

"No," Jonas answered, "I would not ask you to risk any of your men on this undertaking, General, I will go alone."

The young man's statement was greeted with silence. Wolf did not lift his gaze from the map. Jonas rested his hands on the table, facing the other man. "You know I have the ability to do this," he reasoned.

Still the older man did not look up, "Jonas this would be suicide," he repeated.

"I believe I can do it. Think about it General. Ravel cannot risk the Stargate falling into our hands. He would have to view any attack on it as serious and send part of his forces to protect it."

Wolf nodded reluctantly, "I will accompany him, General." Ashtoreth's voice broke through the older man's thoughts. "I _believe _that two would complete the task quicker."

All eyes looked towards the Goa'uld, no one spoke. Ashtoreth gaze remained fixed on Jonas, he suddenly felt vulnerable under her scrutiny; she knew why he was suggesting this. No words were exchanged between them but they understood each other. Jonas nodded reluctantly.

Wolf sighed, "you would have to leave immediately. I will get Dutch to kit you out."

He walked to Jonas, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure about this?"

The young man nodded. The General shook his head, resignation showing through the worn mask of his haggard expression. "I had other things in mind for you Jonas Quinn."

The young man gave a weary smile, "there is a saying on Earth, 'lead by example'."

Wolf raised his eyebrows, "and get yourself killed along the way?"

Jonas shook his head, "I'm not planning on becoming a martyr, Sir." The words sounded as hollow as the lie.

"Then see you come home, Jonas, we've lost too many good men already." The sentiment was heartfelt.

Jonas nodded. "Yes Sir."

* * *

O'Neill checked the chamber of his hand gun for the fourth time. The click sounded like full complement of men in the enclosed space.

A shadow interrupted his labour and his solitude. He looked up, tucking the weapon back in his vest.

"Are you hiding O'Neill?" The Jaffa's smooth voice wrapped around the rock.

He had expected Daniel or even Sam, but Teal'c. _Now that's a turn up for the books._

He brought his stretched leg parallel with his other, the sole of his boot grazing the loose grit on the floor. "No." He replied with a questioning glance.

The Jaffa hunkered down beside him, his gaze remaining fixed in front. "Hmmm," he afforded the Colonel a fleeting look; O'Neill shuffled his feet slightly.

"Then you are still angry with him," Teal'c rich voiced supposed.

Jack shook his head, "no I…" His words sounded awkward. "Look T, the kid baited me." It sounded almost like a whine and O'Neill cringed inwardly.

"And you just let it go." Teal'c continued to look ahead.

"No," the Colonel answered with a sigh. "No, I didn't." He shook his head, feeling ten years old again.

Teal'c turned to face his friend. "It was not your fault, O'Neill; neither should you blame Jonas Quinn. He is not fully in control of his gift. It is absorbing and reflecting the emotions of those around him. He tried to channel your anger but it became too powerful for the both of you."

"Well I wish I had had that little snippet of info before I went storming in there."

"As I recall, you said we would talk later." Teal'c face remained blank. "He knows what's expected of him O'Neill."

Jack relaxed back and looked up at the hanging formations for a moment. He sighed, turning back to the Jaffa. "And he's scared, scared of letting everyone down."

"He is scared of letting you down," Teal'c clarified.

Jack blew out his cheeks. "You two kinda grew close these last few days."

"We have talked." Teal'c folded his hands in front of him. "You must right this O'Neill." He looked again towards the Colonel and stood up, holding out a hand.

Jack looked at the Jaffa's steadfast expression. "What now?"

"I believe it is as good a time as any."

* * *

Jonas and Ashtoreth shielded their eyes against the stark sunlight as they exited from a small opening in the rock face. The young man shifted his pack and moved forward but the Goa'uld stopped him, placing her hand on his arm.

"You are still running Jonas Quinn," she said knowingly.

He looked to her touch and gave a gentle nod. "Yes," he reflected, "but this time I know where I'm running to."

He turned to face her. "Are you sure you want to do this?" She voiced, holding his gaze.

Jonas gave a half-hearted smile. "Are you?" He retorted.

"Yes," she whispered with resolve.

He placed his hand over hers, "then maybe you should lead the way." His voice quivered slightly and she laced her fingers through his.

They both looked down at their embrace. "Very well," the Goa'uld offered, pulling herself free.

--------------------

S'hang unwrapped the dark crystal he had removed from the heart Cassandra had sent. Afraid to touch its lurid veneer he rubbed it between the material to remove the gummy residue of blood clotted to its surface. He set it down, trying not to look too deeply into its inky pull, knowing its baneful blessing would be the velvet pain of death.

He took a deep breath and brought his hand over the cluster of shadowy rock.

A lightless cloud discharged from within its obscure sheen, darkening the alcove where the Jaffa sat.

S'hang looked into its mist, to the form spreading from the knot pitch-black vapour. Cassandra's projected soul looked upon the warrior, her lightless capturing him in their web. "You have news?" She asked on tendrils of soot.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_I made wine from the lilac tree  
Put my heart in its recipe  
It makes me see what I want to see  
and be what I want to be  
_


	33. S'hang

**Chapter 33**

**S'HANG **

S'hang could not pull his gaze from the caliginous void. "Yes," he replied, his voice full of loathing, "your plan has worked, Jonas Quinn and the Goa'uld are headed for the City, although I do not understand how you achieved it."

Cassandra threw her head back and laughed causing the dusty air to swirl around them. Her stare encompassed the Jaffa. "What would be the harm?" She pondered. "Very well I will let you into my little secret. The stone before you is forged from a drop of Jonas Quinn's blood, taken from his veins when my darkness flowed through his soul."

She paused as if reflecting on the memory. "It contains all his fears and insecurities, those tormenting thoughts we like to keep to ourselves."

Her image ballooned with the narration, so too did the quality of brutality in her smile. "You carried it with you as you led O'Neill to Quinn."

The Jaffa's nod was involuntary. "Well, the stone fed the Colonel all those anxieties, goading those deep seated concerns he has regarding Quinn and intensifying them ten-fold." She laughed again, "he did more damage with a few cross words than I could have done in your lifetime."

"And the Goa'uld?" S'hang questioned with unease.

Cassandra drifted towards him, her inhumanity chilling the words from his lips. "A puppet to be manipulated at my will, she still belongs to me even if she thinks she is free from my hold." She balled her fist tightly, squeezing the smoky air between the split of her fingers.

The Jaffa swallowed as he looked deeper into inky essence that coiled around him, realising, for the first time, it was not Cassandra speaking but the being that held her soul.

A filament of its breath bowed across his cheek, stopping the beat of his heart. "They were both emotionally weak, needing comfort, and who can resist the allure of a licentious woman who's a fragile as a butterfly?"

The foggy effigy rolled back towards the stone, S'hang exhaled. "And the beauty of it all is that Jonas Quinn believes it was his fault." A sickening laugh curled from the young woman's lips. "He believes that his unguarded feelings are responsible for his current torment."

"Then my debt is repaid?" The Jaffa asked, looking to the shrinking mass.

Cassandra's head inclined, looking beyond S'hang to Teal'c who was stood by the entrance. "Yes," she answered sweetly, vanishing into the heart of the stone, which liquefied and was absorbed into the rock.

Teal'c marched into the chamber, seizing the other man as he began to rise and pushed him into the wall, "you have betrayed us," he snarled.

S'hang met his angry gaze. "No, I would not betray a fellow warrior." He replied without remorse. "It was only interested in Jonas Quinn." At the Kelownan's name his lips curled.

"Then you have betrayed our position." Teal'c's said stiffly, his forearm pressing against the other man's windpipe.

"That I would never do." S'hang replied, using both hands to pull at the restricting appendage. "Jonas Quinn is no longer here," he gasped, his face contorted with effort.

A flicker of confusion crossed Teal'c's face and he stepped back, releasing his hold. "He and Ba'al's whore are headed for the City believing they can divert Ravel's troops with a feigned attack on the Stargate. **This **is the only information I relayed to that thing." S'hang supplied, massaging his throat.

A well aimed fist knocked him sideways to the ground in a mist of blood. "Then you have betrayed me," Teal'c hissed, standing over the fallen Jaffa.

S'hang sprang to his feet, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He wiped the back of his hand across his bleeding mouth. "He is part Goa'uld, a hybrid, a danger to us all." He rushed Teal'c, his body weight slamming the latter into the wall.

"No he is a friend." Teal'c defended, his feet scuffing the ground as he struggled against the other warrior.

S'hang snorted and Teal'c slammed his forehead onto the other's nose. The olive skinned Jaffa instantly put his hands to shield his face, giving Teal'c the advantage. He directed several well placed blows to the staggering man's head and body. S'hang tried to block the descending strikes but Teal'c's onslaught was too powerful and he found himself catapulted backward to the floor once more. A spittle of an oath escaped from his torn lips as he pushed himself to a sitting position.

Teal'c stood over him, clenching the ache of his bruised knuckles. He looked down at the other warrior's battered face, "you have dishonoured yourself," he seethed.

"No, I have repaid a debt," S'hang bristled, endeavouring to stand.

"What debt?" Teal'c posed warily.

S'hang got shakily to his feet, leaning on a cluster of tall crystals, his breathing ragged. He smeared his sleeve forcefully across his face, leaving a trail of blood. Teal'c eyed him cautiously as he spoke. "That thing save me from Ba'al's numerous tortures. Every death I endured at the Goa'uld's hands possessed no welcoming release; no peace."

He paused and looked to the ground, spitting more at the memory than the acid taste of blood. He looked back at the other man, his eyes showing no emotion. "There was only the constant pain of revival and with each rejuvenation came more torment, more agony, more death. It broke the circle, offered me a chance of life and I took it so I could carry on the fight."

S'hang did not miss Teal'c's look of contempt, "but the cost was too high, S'hang. You have traded your life for another."

"As I have said before that _other_ is part Goa'uld! Living with the Tau'ri has made you soft. You cannot see Jonas Quinn for the threat that he is!" The olive skinned Jaffa stepped forward, hostility pulsing through his tensed muscles like the tick of the seconds.

"He is no threat to you, only to those you have surrendered him to." Teal'c readied himself against S'hang edgy stance.

They both stood on the verge of aggression as O'Neill's voice echoed down the passages in search of Teal'c. The Jaffa diverted his attention for a split-second giving S'hang time to unsheathe the double edged knife concealed under his uniform.

"You are wrong." S'hang blazed as he lunged towards the other warrior.

The glint of the blade added a deadly lustre to the half-light, grazing Teal'c's arm as he instinctively blocked the fervent assault. S'hang drew back and their eyes locked, each measuring the other's mettle. Teal'c found something dark and empty imbedded in the hollow stare that eyed him cautiously. "The sarcophagus took more from you than it gave back," he observed, circling around the other Jaffa.

"It gave me strength of character," S'hang rebuffed, matching the older man's steps.

They both challenged each other with several feigned strikes. S'hang swiping the air; Teal'c shifting his weight forward as each tried to draw their opponent into making a reckless attack.

S'hang skilfully turned the knife in his grasp, baiting Teal'c to move to his left but the other Jaffa was older and wiser and anticipated the bluff. He grabbed S'hang's wrist as the weapon bore down on his torso, the force of the attack tipping them to the floor.

The olive skinned Jaffa pressed down hard as they both struggled for possession of the knife. Teal'c drew on his reserves, his anger, his need to save a friend and twisted the other man's grip on the weapon. S'hang fought against the turn of his wrist as it bowed under the pressure, weakening his hold on the leather hilt. The knife dropped to the uneven ground, its momentum carrying it out reach. Teal'c threw the other man from him and rolled to recover the weapon as S'hang cradled his arm. But the olive skinned Jaffa quickly scrambled to his feet, pressing a thick heeled boot on Teal'c's outstretched hand. He then kicked the unprotected abdomen of the older warrior causing his opponent to shrink away from his grasp on the weapon.

Teal'c hastened to his feet supporting his one side as S'hang retrieved the knife. He spun round, taunting the other with a flash of steel, provoking him to try his hand once more.

Teal'c wiped the sweat from his brow. "Do you think you can escape your shame by killing me? It will only add to it," he commented sagely.

S'hang looked to the entrance for reassurance before stepping forward. "I am just putting you out of your misery, old man. As I have said before, you are too tolerant; there is no place for sentimentally in a warrior!"

Teal'c backed into a rotund column as the other Jaffa advanced on his position, welding the knife assuredly towards him. His fingertips grazed the tilting load as he negotiated the stack, loosening the sediment that bound it stone to stone. S'hang lunged at him but he dodged the attack, placing himself behind the pillar, away from the flash of the blade. The weapon struck the stony surface, freeing several bulky rocks from their age old vault. Teal'c grabbed one as his opponent hurriedly wiped the knife and refocused his attack.

The older Jaffa visibly left himself open as he edged back into the centre of the chamber. S'hang smiled, "you are getting careless," he sneered, rushing the other man.

Teal'c stood his ground, patiently waiting his moment, the beat of his heart blending with every step of S'hang's determined charge. It took just a few seconds but for the two men concerned seemed infinite.

S'hang neared his target, his bloodlust fuelling his attack as Teal'c swung his leading arm back intentionally leaving his torso exposed. His opponent centred on the vulnerable area, pitching himself forward, the blade smiling deftly in a slivery arch as it lead S'hang's advance. He was so absorbed in sealing the older man's fate he barely noticed Teal'c's arm swing to counter his aggressive lunge.

S'hang's head snapped into his right shoulder as Teal'c drove the weighty rock into his temple, the fatal blow sending a spray of claret to baptise the side of the older warrior's face.

The knife tumbled to the floor moments before S'hang, a stunned look of realisation etched as an epitaph on his face.

Teal'c dropped the bloodied rock and knelt beside the younger man, feeling for a pulse against his limp neck.

"T?" Jack's voice penetrated through the pound of adrenaline, Teal'c looked up.

"We have been betrayed, O'Neill."

The Colonel's gaze fell on the crumbled body of the Jaffa and he grimaced at the head injury.

"Yeah, I sorta guessed as much." He said quietly.

Teal'c stood leaving the dead body. "Jonas Quinn is in danger."

Jack simply nodded needing no further explanation. "Let's round up the troops." He said, unhooking his hand gun.


	34. I Found Something Dying

I found something dying; it was my light  
it had resigned itself to night   
so I threw it out a fishing line  
and said catch your will and then catch mine - **Annie, Let's Not Wait** Guillemots

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 34**

**I Found Something Dying**

Ashtoreth watched the young man hesitate by the door. Jonas looked back down the dark passageway, his face pale in the torch light. He placed his hand on the wooden surface of the door, feeling nothing beyond their position he nodded to the Goa'uld.

Their trek through the catacombs had been slow with Jonas stopping often to check himself against some unseen foe. He never spoke of what haunted him but there was a terror in his eyes that betrayed his composure.

She too felt _something _more than the chill of the air whispering from the unearthly shadows. At first she thought it was the scurry of the rats, which moved between the bloated corpses, gorging themselves, but the sounds were almost human. She shivered as their echo stalked her, soft and sinister, like the earth of a newly dug grave.

"Ashtoreth?" Jonas pulled her thoughts to him. "There's nothing there." The words were spoken to comfort but again his eyes betrayed him.

She nodded as he carefully unlatched the small flap of the door.

"Perhaps we'll get to lay a few charges." Jonas sounded optimistic.

"Perhaps," she agreed.

He rested his head against the wood and swallowed. "You can still turn back," he half pleaded.

She shook her head. "No, there was never any question of that, my fate was sealed long before this time."

He reached out and touched her face; she let her mask slip into a smile.

Jonas inhaled. "Wolf's relying on us," he offered with a fruitless grin.

Ashtoreth placed her hand over his. "No, the General knew this was a suicide mission, he has made other plans." Her reply was honest.

"So much for me being a hero," he said dryly.

"That is not why you are doing this," her eyes held his.

"No," Jonas whispered, dropping his gaze.

Ashtoreth lifted his head. "To freedom, Jonas Quinn."

"To freedom," he repeated, softly, opening the door.

----------------------------------------------------

Daniel had already lost the contents of his stomach and could find nothing else but a dry retch. Sam gently squeezed his shoulder, trying not to look at decay around them. Jack and Teal'c stood off the pair's, gaze fixed ahead. "How far T?" O'Neill's question bounced around the curved walls.

"Not far O'Neill," The Jaffa ground his teeth. "But I believe it will not be easy."

Jack nodded slowly, "yeah, I'd thought as much." His gaze rested upon the scattered remains that were once whole and living. He tried not to inhale. The air around them was tainted, but not with the foul gases from the dead. Instead it held something malefic. It was not necessary for them to sense it, it was in the shadows, whispering, trying to summon their deepest fears.

"We should go, O'Neill." Teal'c turned to Jack, determination carved on his features.

"Daniel?" Jack inclined his head to Jackson.

The Egyptologist swilled his mouth with water from his canteen and nodded. His face appeared flushed in the light from their torches.

"Okay, let's…." He stopped, "T?"

The Jaffa was rigid, his fists curled, his stare wide and cast-iron. "T?" He asked again.

"We are too late," came the solemn reply.

Jonas knew Cassandra had found them, even before her silvery figure waxed towards him. He had felt the shadow of her thoughts seep through his own like the rise of iced water on a drowning man.

"Why did you come?" She asked in his mind.

"To end this," he retorted, just as coldly.

Cassandra bared her teeth through a smile. "Very well," she said openly, looking at the Goa'uld. "Let's end this!"

Ashtoreth's body began to tremble and lifted off the ground as Cassandra's mind manipulated her. The Goa'uld screamed as her skin began to blister, bringing her hands to her throat as she struggled to breathe through the agony. Jonas stepped forward pushing a blinding light from his scared palm. Cassandra launched Ashtoreth against the wall so she could deal with the advancing orb. It diminished with a concentration of her dark power.

Jonas looked towards the Goa'uld who lay twisted and broken on the polished floor. A small gurgle of life escaped her lips as she tried to fight death's smothering cloak. With his anger controlling the next burst of energy he pitched another at the young woman. This one's speed caught her shoulder casting her backward. "You are learning," she hissed, managing to keep her balance.

Without hesitating Jonas threw a forceful charge that licked the air between the two opponents. Its fury whipped Cassandra's body, sending her spiralling back along the corridor in an explosion of light.

Jonas quickly bent over the Goa'uld; she looked at him taking his hand. "To freedom," she murmured through bloodless lips.

Her fragile grasp fell from his, the light in her eyes fading as she slipped into the darkness and beyond.

Shrill laughter ricochet around Jack and the others making them cover their ears. Its mirthless wave, in a chorus of deranged voices, crawled across their skin, knocking the breath from their bodies.

Only Teal'c remained tall, as if challenging the onslaught of insanity. The Jaffa removed his hands from his ears as if trying to listen beyond the taunting laughter. Light pierced the darkness and a strong voice silenced the storm. _"The darkness has played its cards, now I will show mine."_

Teal'c unclenched his hand and five red petals scattered to the floor.

------------------------------

"She was a fool to come back." Cassandra cast a shadow over the Kelownan as she joined him.

Jonas hung his head, his anger gone. "It was her choice, something she never had under Ba'al."

The young woman snorted. "Then she was indeed a fool for her choice was death and pain. As are you, Jonas, did you come here to defeat Morgan and me?"

Jonas didn't look up, keeping his eyes on the still corpse of Ashtoreth. "We both know he's not your master in this." He stood up. "As for my reason, I told you before, I came here to end this." He turned to face her.

Cassandra tenderly touched his cheek. "So what now, do we contest each other's power until we are both bloody?" She arched an eyebrow, provocatively.

Jonas shook his head, "I think we both know that would hold no advantaged for either of us."

She smiled. "Maybe we could think of some other way," she lent forward, her lips brushing against his. Jonas turned his head to the side.

Cassandra laughed. "Come now, would it be so bad?" She stroked the side of his face with her fingertips. "My poor baby, I can feel your despair like a knife through your heart." Her touch went to his chest. "The truth of Colonel O'Neill's words cut your tender core. Let _us_ heal you."

"It was you who put the knife in his hand!" Jonas stepped back, shying away from her icy fingers.

"Oh Jonas we only let him vent those feeling he kept close to his own soul, sometimes the truth hurts." The Kelownan cheeks flushed at her words.

A tear rolled down the young man's cheek; he looked down at his hands. Cassandra reached for him, bringing him into her circle. He didn't recoil; instead he let her turn the drip of emotion to ice as she placed her lips to his cheek.

"You have no fight left, your soul is crippled." She turned her gaze to the dead Gou'ald. "Death is your shadow Jonas, your touch. How many more are you willing to sacrifice in this struggle, Sam? Colonel O'Neill?" She smiled with malice, "Izzie?"

The Kelownan looked into her dark eyes, the blood draining from his face. "Come Jonas you know you can end this. Don't fight us, give yourself to us, body and soul."

He reached up and pressed his lips against hers, letting the emptiness of her wash over him, he began to slip into oblivion.

She smiled, "I think this will be a pleasant wait," she whispered into his ear.

"Wait?" His words were heavy and slurred.

Cassandra stroked his hair. "Poor boy, did you think they would just leave you," she inclined her head toward the corridor.

Jonas fought against her stifling embrace but he was too far under the slumber of her dark spell. "No, this is just between us." It was no more than a voiceless murmur as ice crystals formed on his lips.

His head fell against her shoulder. "Oh, Jonas you are so naïve I think that's what I find so endearing. I just need to make sure I have your full cooperation and we both know you value others more than your own life." The scorn of her whisper played softly on his ear.

"Cassandra please…"

"Ssh sweetie, just sleep, you'll need all of your energy later." The young woman soothed, tenderly caressing his silver flecked hair.

"Hey, put him down bitch." Jack raised his weapon, training it on Cassandra.

She looked up. "Colonel O'Neill, I see absence hasn't improved your manners. Now tell me you're not stupid enough to use that are you?" She let Jonas fall to the floor. Her blue eyes changing to black, the cultured smile never leaving her face.

"Jack," Jackson placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What am I suppose to do Daniel, just let her go?"

"Why don't you try a volley of sarcasm Colonel, I believe you've a sharp enough tongue. I hear it cuts deep." She laughed, looking at Jonas. "I must thank you; none of this would have been possible without your help. You broke him Colonel, we're indebted to you."

Jack opened fire but the bullets stopped in midair before they hit their mark, falling harmlessly to the floor.

"My turn," Cassandra sneered

The whole team braced themselves as the young woman floated towards them. She held her hand in front of her and four Jaffa materialised before SG1, staff weapons poised. She turned to Jonas and two more of Ba'al's men appeared, picking the Kelownan off the floor.

She moved to Teal'c, "now shall we go; Morgan's been pining for a new pet." She smiled at him.

Jonas was flying, no; his feet were scuffing the floor. Confused he opened a wary eye; he was being dragged. A firm grip held both his arms as his lower limbs lifelessly scraped against the dimly lit floor. He groaned as a sick understanding kicked him in the gut; he was being hauled along the corridors of Ba'al's Hak'.

The Jaffa holding him cast him to the floor as they noticed him stir under their hold; Jonas did not move. The floor felt safe. He shut his eyes longing for the simple twilight of unconsciousness. A staff weapon was thrust into his side and he heard muted voices in thick debate. A gentle presence crouched down beside him, a strong hand on the small of his back.

"Jonas Quinn?" The voice sounded familiar. "Can you stand?"

The blur of his mind sharpened. _Teal'c. _

Reality grabbed at his chest and pulled him back to face his colleague. Jonas sat up. "Teal'c," it was no more than a harsh whisper.

The Jaffa looked at the young man and for a split second he didn't recognise his friend. The Kelownan's face was glazed with despondency and his lips held a tinge of death. Jonas met his gaze; his eyes were vulnerable and lost.

Another hand gripped his shoulder, siphoning off his reserves. "We don't won't to keep Morgan waiting, do we sweetheart?" Cassandra pressed her lips close to his ear. "I mean, if you really want your friends to pay the price for _your_ tardiness…"

She withdrew, smiling at Teal'c like a crow about to pluck out his eyes. "I will aid him." The Jaffa said, hoisting the young man to his feet.

"Oh, how sweet," Cassandra replied.

"Something you'd know a lot about," Jack stepped up, putting himself between the three.

"Ever the hero, eh Jack?" She laughed, "well let's see if you still got that _bite _when all this has played out, shall we?" She gestured for them to carry on down the corridor.

Jonas realised he wasn't flying, he was falling and Teal'c's strong grip could not save him this time because this was his end.

I'm sorry guys but this will be the last chapter for a short while. I have another fic that's screaming for me to write. It's a nasty old plot bunny with big teeth that needs to be fed!!!!

I will try not to keep you waiting too long. I just don't want to rush this fic, it deserves my full attention.

Take care of yourselves.


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